Love's Real Stories

Dear Doug,

We bought our house because it fit the lifestyle of our two dogs so well. Have you worked with other pet-conscious people?

                                                                                                                                                                                                      –Pet People

Dear People,

It has long seemed to me that we realtors should acknowledge the animals in our business. I, for one, can count at least a dozen pet-clients in my personal Client Hall Of Fame. My first pet-client inductee was Roscoe the Parrott, for his uncanny ability to influence my toughest client, his master.

Harry Stenner was an explosive old guy, and his fuse was lit tonight. Cigar clenched in his teeth, ice cubes jumping from his scotch-glass, he pushed back from the table and jolted upright through the smoke-cloud around his head.

Harry’s eruption was a reaction to the offer presented to him and his wife by Julie Ascomb, buyer’s agent. He puffed cigar smoke and paced about the room mumbling and grumbling expletives, mainly indecipherable. Roscoe the Parrot paced the bottom of his cage performing a perfect imitation of Harry’s movements and vocals, in duet with his fuming master.

“They’re insane!” Harry bellowed.

“They’re insane!” Roscoe echoed.

“Oh Harry, please!” said Mrs. Stenner, exasperated and scolding. “Oh Harry, please!” snapped back Harry. “Oh Harry, please!” screeched Roscoe.

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed by my buyers’ offer,” said Julie, “but they wanted me to tell you they love your home and are serious buyers.”

“Well they should have made a serious offer,” Harry said into his scotch-glass, more than to Julie.

“My buyers have instructed me to tell you they would welcome a counter-offer, and—“

“Tell ‘em to stick it!” Harry slurred through his mouthful of cigar and ice cubes, which sounded more like “Hell un da schtick id!”

“Schtick id!” yelled Roscoe.

I whacked the tabletop with my palms, and said, “Dammit, Harry! We’ve been on the market for eight months. This is a perfect offer from a strong buyer with a great agent. See this offer?” I held it up and wobbled it for him to see. “You should sign this offer. Just sign it!”

Harry’s top lip curled. His eyeballs were like shotgun barrels pointed at a spot between my eyes. He was a madman, lethal, ready to go off.

It occurred to me that my sales technique was flawed. My survival instinct led me to seek a distraction. I stood up and edged over near the cage. “What’s that Roscoe? I said. “Say what?”

“Say what?” said Roscoe.

“Did you say sign it?” I repeated, “Sign. It.”

Roscoe flicked his head back and forth as if concentrating. He peered at me then looked directly at Harry and croaked, “Sign it?” And again, “Sign it.”

Harry’s cheeks puffed out. His eyebrows came down and compressed his eyes. He shot a stare at Roscoe, then at me, then back at Roscoe.

“Bwaahaahaa!” It was a belly laugh. “Haarrrrh, haarrrh, haarrrh, haarrrh!” Harry put his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, okay. Sign it!” he said. “Sign it, it is.”

“Damn bird!” said Harry shaking his head. “Damn bird.”

“Damn bird!” said Roscoe. Damn bird!”