PREVIOUSLY ON BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
READ PARTS 1-5 – BQB died, returned and now seeks the meaning of life.
BQB wakes up in the hospital, returns home to recover, finds assistance from Holmes and Watson:
PART 6 PART 8 PART 10
PART 7 PART 9 PART 11
AND NOW BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE…
I scooped Holmes and Watson into my right hand and carried them into the living room. Monroe had no interest, opting instead to remain in the kitchen, where he read the paper and consumed cornflakes as big as he was.
“What is it boy?” I asked.
“Tonight – WAR IN PANGO TANGO!
Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog was staring at the television, which was showing a news story about a war torn nation.
“The People’s Republic of Pango-Tango,” the anchorman said as images of lush tropical rainforests were shown. “Once a tropical paradise in the middle of the Pacific Ocean…”
The images switched to piles of dead bodies, tanks, and guerrilla fighters patrolling the jungle with AK-47’s.
“…now a battle zone of death and destruction. There are two sides to the island, Pango to the East, and Tango to the West. The inhabitants were friendly and peaceful toward one another until…”
Video appeared of a Tangonian guerrilla fighter in fatigues wearing a red headband. A translator relayed his words to the viewing audience.
“…the dirty Pangonian slimeballs dared to accuse the God of Tango of being violent when everyone knows our God is peaceful. We are left with no choice but to avenge this insult to our God by burning Pango to the ground and hacking the Pangonians to pieces with our mighty machetes of justice. Only then will the world understand that the God of Tango is peaceful.”
Video popped up of a similarly dressed guerilla fighter, except this one represented the Pango side of the island.
“The Tangonians are filthy pigs who want to live in the dark ages,” the Pangonian’s translator said. “That’s fine, but why do they insist that Pangonians must live in the past with them? Only when we blow the Tangonians to smithereens will they realize the error of their ways.”
“The war between the Pangonians and Tangonians has consumed the island of Pango Tango for twenty years, decimating its natural resources, leaving the populace in a constant state of disease ridden starvation,” the anchorman continued.
“Young Duffers, can we change the channel?” Monroe said as he finally walked into the living room. “I hear there’s a show about real housewives that’s supposed to be a real gas.”
I directed a “Shhh!” at Monroe and kept watching.
Video of an enormous mountain appeared.
“The island nation has suffered culturally as well,” the announcer explained. “Historical scholars claim that the peak of Mount. Morabuku is home to a wise, all-knowing being known simply as ‘The Great Guru.’”
A photo popped up of an old man with a bushy white beard.
The Great Guru – he digs flannel.
“According to legend, The Great Guru became the wisest man in the entire world after he literally read every book ever written,” the announcer said. “Prior to the outbreak of the Pango-Tango conflict, adventurers from around the world would climb the treacherous mountain all the way to the peak just to pose questions to the Guru and peruse his voluminous library.”
“The game is afoot!” Holmes yelled.
“Get the hell outta’ here,” I said.
“Shakespeare told you that you would find the path to the meaning of life in a most annoying manner!” Holmes said. “Your pet lead you to this news report on your television by barking in an annoying manner!”
“Can’t beat that logic, Young Duffer,” Monroe said.
I walked over to the TV and plucked a bag of dog biscuits off the table it was sitting on.
“Battle Dog was begging for these!” I said as I pulled out a biscuit and tossed it at furry security chief, who caught it in his little jaws and devoured it.
“He doesn’t know anything about the meaning of life! He’s a dog.”
“This man,” Holmes said. “The Great Guru. He’s read every book ever written! Surely if you ask him about the meaning of life he will provide you with a valuable response.”
“You want me to travel to a war zone, climb a mountain, and find a Guru who has been cut off from society for twenty years and therefore might not even be alive?” I asked.
“The characters on your bookshelf do things like that everyday,” Holmes said. “What’s the problem?”
“Do I really need to explain the difference between the real and fantasy worlds again?” I asked.
“BARK!”
“I consider myself a man of science, Mr. Bookshelf,” Watson said. “But in this case, I’ll make an exception to note this all seems to be a message of a divine nature.”
“BARK! BARK!”
“You know they might have some native women with loose morals on that island, Young Duffer,” Monroe said.
“Still not worth it,” I replied.
“BARK!”
“What?” I yelled, turning to Bookshelf Battle Q. Dog. “What do you want, boy?”
Battle Dog raised a paw to his mouth, coughed to clear his throat, and then spoke in a deep baritone that would make James Earl Jones blush.
Bookshelf Q. Battledog – body of a Papillion, heart of a Doberman.
“Bookshelf Q. Battler,” Battle Dog said. “I find it necessary to inform you that while I enjoyed that biscuit very much, my desire for it had nothing to do with my decision to call you in here. Out of nowhere, I felt a strong, almost supernatural desire to call you in to watch the television. I jumped on the remote control and that news story came on, which I found odd, because the last time this television was on, it was tuned to the AWE network, because Monroe stayed up all night last night watching in Dying Drug Making Scientist marathon.”
My companions and I stared at the little mutt. We were all in shock.
“Am I hallucinating or did my dog just talk?” I asked.
“No, we definitely heard your pooch talk, Young Duffer.”
“Oh Good,” I said. “The tiny version of the Incorrigible Monroe who climbs out of my copy of a 1920’s masterpiece of a novel every once in awhile to eat my food and watch my television just confirmed my dog can talk. Now I know I’m not crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” Holmes said, eyeballing Battle Dog through a magnifying glass. “Speak again, canine!”
“BARK!”
“No,” I said. “Don’t bark. Use your words.”
“BARK! BARK!”
“Most have been some kind of anomaly,” Watson said.
“I’m not sure what freaks me out more,” I said. “The fact that my dog just spoke to me or the fact that so many weird things happen in this house that a talking dog seems normal to me.”
“I’ve seen a television program in which a group of detectives with powers as keen as mine unveiled such a mystery,” Holmes said as he looked up at Battle Dog’s face. “Tell me, sir! Are you an actual dog or are you a small old man in dog costume attempting to frighten Mr. Bookshelf out of his home as part of an elaborate real estate swindle?”
“BARK! BARK!”
“Inconclusive answer I’m afraid, Holmes,” Watson said.
I turned and walked out of the room.
“Mr. Bookshelf!” Holmes called. “Where are you going?”
“To pack,” I said. “If a talking dog isn’t a sign that I need to visit the Great Guru, then I don’t know what is.”
A talking dog? Now we’ve seen everything! Another installment of BQB and the Meaning of Life to come!
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
And obviously, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the man.
Bookshelf Battle 