“Toto, where are you?”
The little dog didn’t move.
“Toto, come here right now!”
Toto peeked out from behind a tree. There was Dorothy, standing with Glinda, the Good Witch, surrounded by the cheering little munchkins of Oz. All Dorothy had to do was rub her red shoes together and she’d be magically whisked back to Kansas.
No way, thought Toto, Oz was the best gig he’d ever come across. No way was he going back to that farm where the chickens all chased and pecked him. No way was he going back to that barnyard where every step risked an encounter with foul smelling poop.
Toto had paid his dues, spent weeks on the road protecting Dorothy and those three dimwits, Tin Man, Scarecrow, and lion, from evil witches, flying demons, and the pitfalls of third rate motels. And what did he get for all this hard work and for pulling back the curtain that revealed that the Wizard of Oz was just a crazy old coot?
Not even one “attaboy!”
But none of that mattered anymore, for when Toto had pulled back that curtain, revealing the bumbling wizard, he’d also discovered Mimi, the wizard’s adorable, if statuesque, French poodle. Sure, Mimi was a bit young, but she found Toto’s worldly adventures fascinating. And, when she’d invited him to dinner at the palace, they’d been served steaks on real silver plates.
No way was he going back to a handful of dry kibbles tossed into a plastic bowl.
Toto swaggered off to meet Mimi. Sure, he was just a mutt, but he knew how to keep the ladies happy. He packed a punch for a little pooch.
“Toto, come here right now or I’m leaving without you!”
Toto smiled, you can call until the cows come home, farm girl, but I’m not going back to sun broiled summers and frozen whisker winters.
No, Dorothy, I’m not in Kansas anymore. Thank God.
Moral: Just because you can go home doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.