An air of mystery permeates the Ponderosa these days. (It smells sort of like egg salad, but that's not the point.) To boil it down: Either our house is haunted, or our dog is howling mad.
My husband, Widdle Baby, and I live in an 80-year-old cottage. It has what shelter magazines call "character." This means floors slope, doors sag and windows stick. It means the floor plan was apparently drawn by drunks who saw no need for closets. It means five layers of terrifying wallpaper in a bathroom the size of a telephone booth.
Still, I love this house. We've filled it with antiques, books, paintings and joy. It's our little corner of paradise. My favorite feature is the wide French doors that divide the dining room and living room. Every time I walk through those doors, I imagine an orchestra playing "Hail to the Chief."
Like I said, we're happy here. There's just one downside: Nicky, our Jack Russell Terrier, thinks the joint is haunted.
Let me say this up front: Once, before my time, there was a ghost here. A little boy died in one of the guest bedrooms 70 years ago. Today he'd recover, but back then there was no cure for a burst appendix.
Widdle moved his family into this house 24 years ago. He didn't know about the boy. Then one day he saw his toddler son, Mikey, in his bedroom chatting up... someone. An unseen someone.
After a few repeats of this scene and some probing questions, Widdle learned the story. He called his minister and before you could say "Thanks be to God," the entire house was exorcised. That, Widdle says, was that. The ghost has never returned.
And I say, convince Nicky. Our Nic is an English, or "shorty" JRT. She has stubby legs and a merry soul. English JRTs are more sedate than the longer-legged Parson JRTs. Nicky's so laid-back, I sometimes feel her ribs to see if she's breathing.
That's why, a few weeks ago, I was shocked to hear her barking wildly in the dining room. We didn't know the dog could bark at all.
Nic stood between the French doors, her body quivering and back hair bristling. "Ar! Ar! Ar!" she yelled, staring towards the hallway. Slowly she crept towards Mikey's old room, still barking. "Ar! Ar! Ar!"
I checked the front door, the back door, all the bedrooms and bathrooms. Nothing. I walked into the back yard and the front yard. Nothing.
Finally, I picked up Neurotic Nicky and got her calmed down.
About a week later, it happened again. Then again, and again. Apparently she sees something near Mikey's room, but what? She doesn't like to enter that sunny bedroom, now decorated in shades of pink and yellow. When I carry her in there, she moans and struggles in my arms.
So, is the house haunted, or is Nicky nuts? Maybe that poor boy never had a tiny dog to love, and he's trying to visit her. I don't know. At this point, it's a tossup.
Or, here's a thought: Maybe I'm the crazy one. Nah.
Julie R. Smith, who plans to haunt several people, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.