Rudolf J. Wiemann
Mish and Mush
First Chapter
Crackling pipe between his lips,
Heedless of two puppies’ yips,
Goes old Casper Schlinkering.
He can smoke like everything.
Though there’s heat within his bowl,
Oh, the chill within his soul! -
“Just what,” says he grumpily,
“Just what is this sort to me?
Has it ever made my day?
Here I tell myself, ‘No way!’
But if something gives me grief,
‘Throw it out!’ is my belief.”
By the pond he slows his pace,
As this is the drowning place.
Fearfully the canine pair
Twists and squirms and kicks the air
For their instinct says, ‘Egad!
I don’t trust this! It looks bad!’
Airborne - ‘Whoosh!’ - the first one glides.
‘Mishsh!’ - Into the wave he slides.
Now the second one goes, ‘Whoosh!’
Diving with a splashy ‘Mushsh!’
Says ol’ Schlinkering, “Good show!”
Puffs and turns away to go.
But here too, as is the norm,
Hope and outcome don’t conform.
Paul and Pete, unseen by him,
Getting ready for a swim,
Saw in utter silence hid
What ol’ Schlinkering just did.
Headfirst, like two leaping frogs,
They jump in without their togs,
Whence each with a pup in hand
Paddles back to solid land.
“Mish!” says Paul now, “I’ll call this’n.”
“Mush!” does Peter then call his’n.
Paul and Peter do not tarry,
But pick up their mutts and carry
Them in haste but mindful style
To their folks and domicile.
Second Chapter
Papa Fittig, true and shielding,
Mama Fittig, kind and yielding,
Wait while sitting side by side
Worry-free and satisfied
With their supper set to go
Calmly on their patio -
For it’s been a pleasant day -
While their boys are still at play.
There, back from their pond and bush
They appear with Mish and Mush.
Papa Fittig is severe
And demands, “Now, lookie here!”
Mom, however, soothingly
Says, “Dear Fittig, let it be!”
On the table waits the sweet
Milk dish, ladled out to eat,
Toward which all now gladly stride -
But the mutts are first inside.
Look, there stands that shameless team,
Every paw in sweetened cream,
And proclaims its boundless joys
With a rapid lapping noise.
Schlinkering, just passing by,
Smirks and says, “O my! O my!
A for-real calamity -
Teeheehee! - but not for me!”
Third Chapter
Paul and Peter, undeterred
As if nothing had occurred
Slumber soundly in their lair -
For what do these fellows care.
In and out each young one’s nose
Gentle-like the zephyr blows.
Mish and Mush meanwhile, one finds,
Seem to still be of two minds
As to where to rest their heads.
Then they too select their beds.
Mish, by following old praxis,
First turns thrice around his axis.
Mush, though, proves to be a pup
Who just wants to cuddle up.
To a body seeking rest
Others often are a pest.
“Git!” This word which speaks of clout
Prompts a kick which throws them out.
Chill awakens enterprise;
Enterprise means time which flies.
Welcome here are for these bowsers
Handy shoes and ready trousers
Which before the night is gone
Show that they’ve been put upon.
For the father how appalling
When he does his wake-up calling.
Down he looks in anger lost,
Pondering, “What will it cost?”
And he hastens as he renders
Judgment on the sleep pretenders,
But their mom says soothingly,
“Dearest Fittig, let it be!!”
This petition, softly cooed,
Dissipates a dad’s bad mood.
Paul and Peter, though, don’t care
What is left for them to wear.
Pete gets slippers, large and ragged,
Paul sports trousers, high and jagged,
Mish and Mush, as not refined,
To the doghouse are consigned.
And ol’ Schlink says, “Teeheehee!
That’s too bad - but not for me!”
Fourth Chapter
Finally a wire device
Trapped the brassiest of mice
Which for months now with much gall
In the basement, in the hall,
And especially at night
Gave Ma Fittig such a fright.
This event concurs with Mish’s
And with Mush’s hopes and wishes,
For the word is, “Leave your housey,
Little nuisance nibble-mousey!”
Zoom! The trouser leg of Pete,
Thinks it, makes a safe retreat.
Mish pursues it up the cuff,
Mush meanwhile patrols the scruff.
Yeow! Into his nose’s tip
Drills the mouse incisor’s nip.
Mish attacks it from the rear.
Ugh! It’s got him by the ear.
Then it’s off and like a shot
To the neighbor’s garden plot.
Rip-paw-rap-paw! Mercy me!
Cherished floral finery!
As this happens, Mrs. Kamp
Plans to charge her kerosene lamp.
Her dear heart nigh breaks in two
When she sees the wrecking crew.
Rushing out there as on wings,
It’s the lamp oil can she brings.
With a joy that calms her hurt,
She gives each of them a squirt.
Two bad dogs, as can be seen,
Feel the sting of kerosene.
But this girl in no way senses
Her procedure’s consequences,
For what here and now takes place,
Is, indeed, a great disgrace,
And her mien of ire and sadness,
Yields to smiles which hints of madness.
With the sighing whisper, ‘E-r-r!’
A deep faint comes over her.
But the boys in reckless fashion
Show a shortage of compassion.
Someone else’s hopes and cares,
Simply stated, are not theirs.
And ol’ Schlink says, “Teeheehee!
That’s too bad - but not for me!”
Fifth Chapter
Mish and Mush, no ifs or buts,
Are a low-down pair of mutts -
Low-down, but united too,
And in this respect still due
One’s, if grudging, admiration.
But what may be its duration?
Jerk in unity with jerk
In the long run will not work!
In the window sits a beauty
Of a neighbor’s canine cutie.
For both mutts this winsome sight
Is an unforeseen delight.
Each soon jostles and advances,
Sending up admiring glances.
If it’s Mish who pulls ahead,
Mush is certain to see red.
If the front row falls to Mushy,
Mish is certain to get pushy.
Surly, growling sounds arise,
Scuffing paws meet glaring eyes -
And the dogfight has begun.
Mish prevails, and Mush must run -
Just as Mother Fittig shapes
Her sweet salad dish and crêpes,
This acknowledged favorite meal
With its well-known heart appeal.
Crash! Into the kitchen race
Mush with Mish still giving chase.
Stool and pot and batter, all
Blend into their stubborn brawl.
“Wait! You Mish, you wicked knave!”
Peter yells and lets him have
A well aimed and stinging crack,
Something which takes Paul aback.
“Cut that out! You Mish-dog beater!”
Hollers Paul as he zaps Peter,
Whereon Pete, himself no slouch,
Flogs Paul’s ears. He yammers, “Ouch!”
Now the fray gets truly frightful!
Ah, the salad, sweet, delightful,
Gets a gross pre-dinner tasting
In a thorough mutual pasting.
Here come Papa now, his reed
Raised and poised to intercede.
Mama, though, still meek and mild,
Loath at seeing scenes grow wild,
Begs, “Dear Fittig, not the stick!”
But her movement is too quick.
Fittig’s reed impales her bonnet
With the lacy trimming on it.
Schlinkering says, “Teeheehee!
One is at it, as I see!”
He who laughs where woe does reign
Makes himself a real pain.
Irritating for a chap
Is the sizzling pancake cap.
And ol’ Schlinkering says, “Wheee!
That’s too bad! - This time for me!”
Sixth Chapter
Squatting down and looking tough,
Mish and Mush bark ‘ruff-ruff-ruff!’
For their enterprise restrains
A not lengthy pair of chains.
Fittig also is disturbed.
“This,” he thinks, “has to be curbed!
Virtue needs to be persuaded.
Badness one can do unaided!”
Shortly therefor Paul and Pete
Sit at their instructor’s feet.
›From his desk with earnest fuss
Mr. Bokelmann speaks thus:
“Dear boys, I am happy that you have come
To begin a propitious curriculum,
And in its pursuit - as should go without mention -
To give me your undivided attention.
Let us then first with diligence stick
To reading, writing, and arithmetic,
As through these arts, if well understood,
Is honor attained and a livelihood.
But secondly, boys, where would one be
Absent courteous civility,
As he who is not courteous in every direction
Will only suffer consistent rejection.
In summary then, boys, here is the deal
Which I offer with a most urgent appeal:
Do you intend from an inner persuasion
To follow my instructions without evasion?
Then look at me, give me your hands, and concur
By saying, ‘Yes, Mr. Bokelmann, sir!’”
Paul and Peter, never coy,
Think, “What? Come again, old boy!”
Not one answer give those pips,
Just “Teehee!” comes from their lips,
Whereon he who whistled low
Speaks once more, this time like so:
“Well then, my chaps, since you both exude
Such pride in a bad-boy attitude,
I am persuaded, once I have stretched you here
Across my desk, it will soon become clear
That with this switch, in a tradition well trusted,
We will soon have said attitude readjusted.”
Like a blade from underneath
His gray smock as from a sheath
He then draws the tough and zippy
Hazel rod so lithe and nippy,
Quickly takes the would-be toughs
Like an expert by their scruffs
And now zaps them thus conjoint
Till he thinks he’s made his point.
“So then,” he says, composed to the core,
“My dear boys, would there be anything more?
Are you satisfied now, and do we agree?”
“Yes, Mr. Bokelmann, sir!” they said hurriedly.
Bokelmann does have his way,
And its worth is plain as day.
Everyone will soon attest,
“Paul and Peter are the best!!”
Mish and Mush to their chagrin
See their own tough course begin,
And the taming, such as needed,
Just like Bokelmann proceeded.
Soon, proficient in their arts,
People take them to their hearts,
And as happens in the main,
Art begets financial gain.
The End
This fine countryside to view,
More than very well-to-do,
Partial to his telescope,
Came an Englishman named Pope.
“Why not should I, while I wander,”
Says he, “see what’s over yonder?
There it’s also fair, I’d say,
And here am I anyway.”
But he stumbles by the shore
Of the pond and sees no more.
“Boys, I wonder if that stranger
Over there has met with danger?”
Asked Pa Fittig, who was talking
With his boys while they were walking.
But what happened to the gent
Soon became quite evident
As sans hat and scope he steps
Calmly from the watery depths.
“Mish and Mush! Go fetch!” is how
The command rings out right now.
Well accustomed to respond,
They dive down into the pond
And retrieve what went astray.
Mr. Pope says, “I do say!
I admire that pair a lot!
Pay a hundred on the spot!”
Papa Fittig in good cheer
Says, “I’ll be . ! Well, lookie here!”
As the sight of printed wealth
Adds new gusto to his health.
“Mishy! Mushy! Both of you!
It is time to say, ‘Adieu!’ -
Ah, and on the very shore
Where a year ago we four
In that hour of dread and pleasure
Forged a bond we’ll always treasure.
Stay contented and well fed.
Steak be now your daily bread!”
Once again ol’ Schlinkering
Comes and takes in everything.
Strangers’ luck sticks in his craw.
“Darndest thing I ever saw!”
Mumbles he. “But not my gain!”
Then he feels a stabbing pain,
Gets jealous cramp of soul,
Draws one puff yet from his bowl -
Splash! - creates a waterspout,
And his life’s wick flickers out.
Hot once with his respiration,
Now with sparser smoke formation
Does the pipe still glimmer on
Till its herbs are burnt and gone.
One more cloudlet, coarse and blue -
Phitt! - and we are finished too.
From the German ´Plisch und Plum´
by Wilhelm Busch.
Translated by Rudolf J. Wiemann, P. E.
St. Paul, USA
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Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.de am 05.01.2005.
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