The Eulogy [A Monologue]

[This scene takes place in a medium sized catholic church in modern times. There are darkly dressed mourners of all ages filling the pews and sad organ music is playing, indicating that this is a funeral. As such, a very small brown casket sits before the altar. The organ piece ends and there is silence for a second, before a slightly teary-eyed, thin, well groomed man in his mid-30s stands from the front row, bows his head toward the casket, and proceeds to the podium at the altar.]1

MAN: "Friends and family of the deceased... I want to take a moment to thank you all for being so supportive of my family and I in these hard times. That being said, I have a lot on my mind with the passing, and it's time I said a little more to you about the loss I've been through. More than a blood family member, and more than a best friend, I can say that my dog, Bollocks, was always and will always be my dog. Always trustworthy and lovable, he was there for me until his untimely end at the age of thirty-eight and eight months, and frankly must have set some sort of record as the oldest basset hound to ever live.2

"Granted, when he came into the possession of our household I had yet to be born. As a young puppy he was initially a wedding gift to my parents, three full years before my birth. He was given to them by a relative of mine who I know only as Uncle Schnapps. I am unsure of his birth name even as of today. I was too young to have ever met Uncle Schnapps, because, as I have been told, no more than three weeks after presenting my parents with the young Bollocks, Uncle Schnapps was shockingly killed in the only suicide in our town's history, involving a five-car pileup, the cancellation of the hit sitcom "My Four Gay Dads", and an oatmeal recall that is to date the largest recall in the history of the FDA.3

"Regardless, by the time I was born, Bollocks was three years old, and was no less a part of the household than my parents, Beverly and Donald. I was told that in my first days of walking I would often attempt to steal the food from Bollocks' dish, which would frequently result in my suffering bleeding wounds and yet never quite learning much of anything.4

"When I was age 9, Bollucks, of course, was 12, which in dog years is roughly between 70 and 80 years old. At this point my father had me mowing the lawn regularly, and one of my most vivid memories of this period was chasing old Bollocks around the yard with the weedeater. It was rarely much of a chase, of course, given his age compared to mine. I would usually manage to catch some of his tail in the spinning wire rather easily, before, of course, being weighed down in front by the tool and stumbling over it myself, which caused many weedeater injuries that were difficult to explain to curious teachers. But if I were less clumsy I'd have killed that dog sooner, and that would have deprived me of the most beautiful years of both mine and Bollocks' lives.5

"After my older brother had moved out to found Shakey's Bar downtown and go about... whatever it was you've done with most of your life, Ted! [He chuckles while pointing. This is unreturned.] ...er... anyway... I was sort of the only kid around, and Bollocks was practically my brother through high school. A brother I could rely on, a brother I could talk to. A brother I took as my date to the prom. 6

"That was a truly magical night, despite the ushers saying that a dog couldn't come inside despite how many bowler hats and canes he had. Bollocks was not one to let some old fart ruin his evening, of course. He helped himself to all the cake and punch he could handle, and poor Mindy Schuler - who I'm told couldn't attend the service today - Mindy lost three and one-half fingers and two toes that night when she tried to take back Bollocks' new purse he borrowed from her. If Mindy were here today, I'd tell her that her purse matched my dress better than hers anyway. Bollocks' judgement was never wrong.7

"When it came time for me to go off to college, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted a degree in Cosmotology, with a minor in Federal Standard Inspection of Meats. My parents sent me off the the Hausgates Institute, the best hybrid "Beauty and the Beef" school for three counties, and, fearing for my mental health, they allowed me to take that old hound with me. I was a rather busy man in college; if it wasn't a mannequin head that needed lipstick it was a slab of maggoty bacon. Naturally, I'd trained Bollocks to fetch my necessary items so that I never had to leave my work. Granted, by this time he was as ancient as the fjords, and could hardly walk, let alone fetch, but he would never fail to bring me something when commanded to. Often times it would be an object from the trash or a smut magazine, which he only brought when I wasn't asking for it. But his obedient intentions were clear enough to show his love.8

"I remember a night in college when Kaitlyn Robbins, the only woman I've ever loved, came to my dorm to deliver some perscription anti-depressants I'd dropped coming out of our mascara class. She was a true beauty, and I must admit that I was very erect upon seeing her when I opened the door. But oh, old Bollocks, always quick to beat me to the punch even in his old age; that dog blasted clean past me, leapt onto that girl, brought her to the ground and gave her a brutal humping to the face like none I'd filthied my sheets dreaming of all semester. I never saw her again, but I gave him a treat just for that every single day until I was finished with college, to which he would always look up at me with those eyes that begged to be loved and cared for. He was old, but he was a true being of heart. He always was.9

"And then I came home to start a family, which pretty much consisted of me living alone with Bollocks and watching a lot of television. He lived that existance, sleeping at my feet, breaking in the backyard, eating scrambled eggs and pepperonis every day... until the day that he passed on. That was when I found him urinating on the compost heap in the backyard, and shot him dead on sight with my bolt-action rifle, clean up the asshole and out of his forehead. Fucking mutt never should have come within a mile of that heap, I swear by my stones.10

"That, my friends, is the story of Bollocks, the world's oldest basset hound. That's how he got to where he is today... in this casket, in front of you, within the hallowed halls of this sanctuary. I think I'll close up by sharing some words of wisdom from my father that pertain to Bollocks. He once found me talking to the dog behind the shed, after I'd been declared missing for four days. He grasped my arms and pulled me to where his face met mine, and told me something I'll never forget. He said, 'You're a fucking nutter, boy, are you listening? We thought you were street meat in some faggot's basement by now, and here you are talking to a dog like some pussyfaced psycho. You're a nutter, that's what you are.'11

Thank you all for coming. God rest Bollocks."12

[The man looks up from his notecards with eyes full of tears to find that the pews are now halfway empty. One of the last remaining guests, a large, older woman, shuffles out of her seat mumbling something about how she thought it was supposed to be Bingo night. The speaker walks down from the altar and returns to his seat.]13

END SCENE