Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Ibuprofen Blues

It wasn’t the pain that bothered Dancer, nor was it the annoying air cast on his paw, or even the ball-busting awaiting him when he got back to work. What bothered Dancer the most was the sheer pleasure his twin brother would take in seeing him finally limp.

“Doc, how long we talkin’?” Dancer asked.

“Three weeks.”

“You’re kidding me?!”

“This is good news. It’s just a sprain. It could have been a lot worse,” the vet said glancing at the shotgun on his wall.

That son of a bitch, Dancer thought.

The Boss caught the vet’s glance and looked down towards his boots.  He patted Dancer on the back and led him out of the office.

“Guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about! I’ll be back in a couple days. Nothing a little ibuprofen can’t fix, right?” he nervously laughed.

Dancer had always been the stronger twin, the more talented, the “born leader.” He had successfully avoided every hazard Prancer threw his way… until now.

“What a kook!” he tried again, but the old man’s silence said it all.

 “You’re out, Dance.”


“You’re off the front.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s not about the ankle, damn it!”

 Dancer stopped in his tracks. The Boss lit a cigar.

“Your time is up, Dance.”

 “I-I… don’t understand.”

 “I can’t have the leader of my sleigh tripping over fucking candy canes.”

And with that, Dancer knew this was not about his brother at all.


Anonymous said...

Zing! Talk about adding insult to injury... ;)

Love the story so far...keep it coming.

Anonymous said...

I didn't see that one coming. Twist ending! :)

sdneeve said...

Poor Dancer, shoved from the line-up. He should get a good lawyer and sue Santa's arse. :D

Unknown said...


Anonymous said...

The glance to the shotgun - priceless!
Loving the darkness of your stories.

SteveB said...

Oh man! The Big Man with the bringdown.