The Hatcher’s were an older couple my parents drug me, unwillingly, to visit on occasion. They were our next door neighbors. I was very young. Kindergarten, maybe? There is something about a certain kind of matchy-matchy polyester older couple that you just sense that they are far too proper to act out around. There were no toys. The conversation was adult and far too long. I was a shy, quiet child and hated these visits.
I remember that they had a backyard and covered carport that we could enter near a crab apple tree from our driveway. I also remember that they had a German Shepherd. As a third grader this dog was huge and intimidating and a pup still . . . so, very active. And it’s name was Princess. Sounds just like a name an older couple wearing matchy-matchy polyester would choose.
My mother informed me one day that I was going to a birthday party. Yay! . . . . . for Princess . . . Boo! A birthday party for a dog? I had never heard of such a thing. Even at the age of a mere fry I knew that wasn’t right.
It got worse. Princess had been signed up for the Burger King Birthday Club. It was a theme party? I wasn’t signed up for the Burger King Birthday Club. I went. I was terrified. I was bored. And who got to eat the burger? Princess.