Toto in Munchkinland

No doubt evil Disney Corp

 (not to be confused with Sainted Uncle Walt)

will come after me for infringing on the copyright they have purchased from the Frank Baum estate and the makers of the 1939 classic, Wizard of Oz. Why does Disney buy all the classics? It couldn’t be because they lack imagination (without Pixar) to do anything original anymore? Of course those dozen Saved By The Bell rip-offs that constitute the Disney Channels programming are all… something.

Toto in Munchkinland

by Headley Hauser

 

The house never used to move like that. At least Toto didn’t think it moved that way, but he spent all of his time with Dorothy, and she wandered around outside singing a lot, so he couldn’t be sure. This was a lot like being in the basket when the bad dog rode on her bicycle over the rocky hilly road, except that now he didn’t see any way to jump out.

Crash!

Well, there wasn’t till now.

"Oh Toto," said Dorothy, "look at all the colors!"

What was a color? Dorothy was the love of his life, but Toto could never understand this thing she had about colors. Then she completely ignored the most interesting smells.

Dorothy was a very strange dog.

What was this? Toto ran out of the house and around to the side. There was something under the house – something either newly dead or just dying. It was the foulest, nastiest smell he’d ever smelled in his life. Was it food? Maybe he should roll in it.

He’d better check with Dorothy.

"Dorothy!" Toto barked, "you gotta come smell this dead thing!"

"Toto," said Dorothy, "I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore."

Talk about changing the subject! Sometimes it seemed like Dorothy just wasn’t listening.

Dorothy went around looking at flowers while Toto sniffed for really interesting things. Of course, the dead thing was pretty hard to ignore, but Toto wasn’t a puppy anymore. He knew how to sniff for little things. There weren’t many things to smell, no rabbits or squirrels or even those bag things with all the hard kibble in them. Unless that dead thing was food, they might be in trouble.

But there were dogs – lots of them. They smelled different than Dorothy, but so did Toto. Dogs came in all kinds of scents. Dorothy was so busy looking for colors that she didn’t even smell the pack.

Toto wasn’t worried. The pack smelled like they were afraid. Toto gave a growl to show them that they had reason to fear. Three dogs smaller than Dorothy and a big bitch with white fur came out of the weeds so Dorothy could see them. Toto prepared for a fight.

They just talked. They didn’t even growl, but at least they showed Dorothy respect.

The pack showed Dorothy the dead thing under the house. They didn’t say it was food, so Toto lost interest and went around marking the small trees that didn’t smell like real trees at all.

It was too easy. No dogs had marked any of them.

"What’s wrong with you dogs!" Toto barked.

Dorothy giggled like Toto had made a joke and held out her arms. Toto jumped into her arms. She never understood the things he tried to tell her, but she was nice and warm.

They talked some more – not about food or territory or anything useful. They talked about witches and a wizard. Unless they were the witches and wizard of food, Toto didn’t care.

Then it got weird.

Everybody started saying, "Follow the yellow brick road." They said it over and over again. Even Dorothy said it. Dorothy started walking while saying, "Follow the yellow brick road." She motioned for Toto to follow her.

Toto followed. He always followed Dorothy. He loved Dorothy.

"But when do we eat?" barked Toto.

"And what’s yellow?"

Some people don’t get that last line. Dogs are colorblind, so…

Never mind – Hey Disney, here’s a new logo for you!

Kid Stuff

If you’re a parent in search of kid’s music that you can enjoy, may I suggest, Lunch Money? For some reason, they have yet to do a polished video of their hit song, A Cookie as Big as My Head, though I did find a pirate recording on You Tube.

I could dance to that. Check their site  for a more polished video of their song, Spicy Kid.

I don’t know why I love kid’s music and stories – at least good kid’s music and stories. Maybe it’s true that you never lose your first love.

To those who are saying it’s because I’m childish – I’m not listening. What’s more: I’m rubber, you’re glue; insults bounce off me and stick on you!

As far as stories are concerned, my fist love was Puffy (the Puppy) by Georgianna  (1952.) It was a Tell-a-Tales book, which was probably a rival to Golden Books. Back then, rivalry was allowed, before a certain mouse-themed empire vacuumed up our cultural heritage. Disney probably owns the rights to Puffy now as they have (as official corporate sponsors of the NSA) high-hoseyed the rights to the works of every dead author since the Epic of Gilgamesh.

I understand that the Code of Hammurabi has been renamed in recent social studies books to the It’s a Small World Code of Hammurabi. As we speak the code is being put to endlessly repetitive music to be the background sound to the Hanging Gardens exhibit in Disney’s new World Domination Theme Park. The world is getting uncomfortably small, after all.

I see this kind of action by a company founded by the creator of Bambi, Dumbo, and Snow White, and I wonder: WWWD (What Would Walt Do?)

What the heck! I haven’t been sued in a while. Here is Puffy.

Puffy

by Georgiana

Puffy the Puppy is fat and well fed;

Puffy the Puppy is asleep on his bed.

His eyes are shut tight, his long ears are dragging;

Even his fat little tail has stopped wagging.

Puffy belongs to a small boy named Tommy.

And Tommy belongs to his daddy and mommy.

Puffy’s awake now and ready for fun;

He looks out the window and barks at the sun.

He eats all his breakfast, then runs out to play;

He chases a kitten – and rolls in the hay.

He plays ball with Tommy, then goes for a ride

In Tommy’s red cart with balloons on each side.

Puffy barks to go fishing with Tommy and Dad,

And when they don’t take him he’s dreadfully sad.

Buy look, Puffy, see, there’s a squirrel to chase

Up the tree to her hiding place.

No Puffy’s hungry, he sits up and begs

On his fat little bottom and two hind legs

Puffy the Puppy is fat and well fed:

Puffy is ready to curl up in bed.

He stretches and yawns, then shuts his eyes tight

And sleeps cozy and warm till the sun’s shining bright.

I have no idea if it’s good poetry or not – it’s too close to me, but as I love it. I would like to see it preserved – even if it is by that DIC (Disney Imperial Corporation.)

Or even better – if Puffy has managed to slip through the big D’s fingers, maybe Lunch Money could put it to music.

I could dance to that.