Man's Best Friend.


Over the weekend Tony Lobster turned four and threw a big bash in his backyard. Not since the days of Capote's black-and-white ball has the idea of a party held so much promise. Christopher lay awake in bed many a night anticipating the big event. Will there be presents? Yes. For me? No. For Tony? Yes. Will there be games? Yes. Hot dogs? Yes. Cake? Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!

And finally Saturday afternoon boiled into view bright and whole and uncertain as an uncracked egg. We spent a few hours preventing them from rushing out the front door and making a dash for Tony's house right away - "No! It's eight in the morning! The party doesn't start for four hours! Eat breakfast! No, you can not have any candy!" - before we got around to wrapping a Lightning McQueen Viewmaster in blue and gold Hannukah gift wrap (you make the best with what you have on hand, am I right?) and running all crazynuts to Tony's backyard. Once there, we were instructed to "put the present under the party tree."

Party tree? "Tony woke up at four in the morning in a panic that we didn't have a party tree," explained Tony Lobster's mommy, "because Santa puts the presents under the Christmas tree, and if we didn't have a party tree, nobody would know where to put his presents."

Remarkably, Tony Lobster's mommy actually had a party tree in the garage, a six-foot-tall inflatable palm tree from a past summer block party. Before Tony would go back to bed she had to get up, get the tree and a bicycle pump, and inflate it so he would settle down and quit worrying.

We put the Viewmaster under the party tree, which by the afternoon had been duct taped to the patio in the backyard, surrounded by a green lawn of vinyl that had also been duct taped over the bricks.

A puppy gamboled up to us and flopped down to expose his belly for us to scratch.

"You got a puppy?" I asked.

"Yeah, we did," said Tony Lobster's mommy. Tony Lobster's 18-year-old sister Jessie immediately started to smirk, waiting for me to ask the inevitable question, which of course I did.

"What's his name?"

Tony Lobster's mommy started to speak, stopped, and then started again.

"Okay, you know how Tony loves Thomas the Tank Engine, right? Well, we named him "Percy," because Percy is Thomas' best friend. That makes sense, right?"

"Sure," I said, flipping over his bright shiny new tags that read, "PERCY" before moving on to scratch his floppy ears.

"Well, we didn't think about the fact that Tony has a hard time saying his...well, wait a second.

"Hey Tony! Come here!" she called, and Tony came running up.

"Tell Christopher's mommy what your puppy's name is," she told him.

Tony grinned broadly, and told me, in a flawless little bubble of articulation that floated across the backyard.

"PUSSY!"

This may be all well and good today, but now that I know there's always going to be Pussy at Tony's parties, in about ten years my kids can just forget about accepting any future invitations.