Fuller and Janice lived up Highway 65, way back in the woods. They moved there in the fifties, when they were first married. All three of their children were grown up and gone, but Fuller and Janice had filled the emptiness with dogs, six of them, all part hound and part whatever. Since there was no one around them to complain about their dogs and junk piled in the yard, they enjoyed a comfortable life.
Fuller was round, plump, and jovial, with a tuft of white hair all around his head. Janice was more serious, tall and big-boned, with gray eyes that could see into anybody’s thoughts. She had impossible red hair that curled every which way there was, even though she tied it into a tight knot at the back of her head. Little by little, it managed to escape, until by evening, it had sprung up everywhere but in the knot.
Now, Fuller liked to tinker around with old refrigerators, cars, and washing machines. He was forever leaving grease tracks on the steps, the door, and the remote control. His one bit of excitement came from watching the news, and he believed every sensational story that was put out there. At six o’clock, he would come in the door, smelling of dog, sweat, and grease. Janice would take a seat on the other side of the T.V. room, so she wouldn’t have to smell him as they watched the news together.
One day, a real estate man came by their place. He drove a shiny new car, carried a briefcase, and was clean right down to his fingernails. Fuller and Janice sat out on the porch with him as they all drank ice tea. He talked about land values, the real estate market, and all kinds of percentages. They got real bored, real fast. Fuller wanted to talk about fishing or mechanics, or anything but what this man was saying. Janice finally got up and started pulling weeds up out of her zinnia bed.
“Now, you would do so much better if you were to clean this place up. Paint the house and get rid of all this junk.” Suggested the real estate man.
“What junk?” asked Fuller.
“Those old cars, for one,” the man replied.
“All that one needs is a transmission. I’ll get to it soon. Them other two just needs a little adjustment here and there. I’ll wait till the weather cools off to fool with them. And all that washing machine needs is another agitator. It’s just been too hot to get out here lately,” explained Fuller.
And just as Fuller was beginning to go on about a new report of an alien abduction, exaggerating as he went, the man decided he had had enough and needed to get back to town.
“Hold up, now,” Fuller said. “Take that old Buick over there with the blackberry bushes growing up through it. It serves a good purpose sitting there even if I can’t get to it right away. Why would I want to haul it off?”
“What possible use is an old junk car that doesn’t even run?” asked the man.
“Come here and I’ll show you!” Fuller exclaimed.
They walked over to where the old Buick rested under a scrub oak tree.
“This thing is nothing but a rustbucket!” stated the man. Then he saw six sets of eyes staring back at him through the windshield. Four in the front and two in the back.
“Don’t it make a fine doghouse, though!” grinned Fuller as the man slunk back to his shiny new car.
