The Oh So Incredible
That It's Hard To Believe
Story of
An American  Poodle In Paris
Zeet Zeet had it tough and things didn’t look like they were going to get any better. Zeet Zeet, after all, was an American Poodle in Paris. Even for an optimist of Zeet Zeet’s caliber the road ahead looked like a bumpy one. Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, perhaps we should look into just how this American Poodle ended up in a city like Paris. Let’s go back to the beginning...

 It would have been easy for Zeet Zeet to feel sorry for himself but he just wasn’t that kind of dog. Life had started out roughly for our canine hero. Take, for example, his name. Being named Zeet Zeet was like being named Bob Bob or Cindy Cindy. Whenever he had to fill out one of those forms that require your first name last and you last name first poor Zeet Zeet could never be sure if he was doing it right. He could only ponder whether he had put the correct "Zeet" first. This moniker-madness wasn’t the worst of it.

 At obedience school Zeet had to bunk with two foreign exchange French poodles. A Poodle is a Poodle was the opinion of the schoolmaster. Oh sure, this seemed logical enough to the schoolmaster but Zeet couldn’t understand a darned thing those French Poodles were saying for his first two months at the school. His foreign bunk mates, Pierre and Maurice, even thought "Le Zeet" had a learning disability. It wasn’t until they realized that Zeet was an American Poodle, and therefor spoke English and not French, that they understood why he was so very non-conversational.


Well now, with this understanding clear, the solution was simple… "Le Zeet" would simply have to become bilingual. So at every spare moment Pierre and Maurice tutored Zeet in the French language. It didn’t take our hero long. After all he had his father’s brains and whenever he would begin to feel discouraged he would take out the jar he kept them in and swish them around until he felt better.


The boys went on to become the very best of friends. One night, while Pierre cleaned himself and Zeet and Maurice watched, the conversation turned towards post graduation plans. It has always been assumed that Pierre and Maurice would return to France where everyone could understand them. But what of Zeet? He had never mentioned a hometown. Didn’t he have a fire hydrant to return to? Zeet hung his little head and shook it from side to side. After most of the drool that had been clinging to his mouth had flung off he raised his head once again and told Pierre and Maurice that he not only had no hydrant to return to, he had no family either. He had been brought to the school as an orphan. "Well," declared Maurice, "then it is to France with us that you must go."


  Zeet, touched by the sentimentality of the moment almost said yes. In fact, if it wasn’t for Pierre’s little accident due in part to his excitement level, the moment may have swept him away. But Zeet declined. Paris was no place for an American Poodle. Pierre and Maurice pleaded with their friend. They reminded him that he already knew their language and assured him that he would get used to the water. Zeet still had to decline. He cited facts that America was his home and he found the thought of eating snails simply revolting.


Well the days passed and graduation grew near. All seemed well with only one week until the big day.

 One night the boys were up later than usual studying for finals when there was a knock at the door. Pierre answered the door and was handed a Bark-O-Gram. Pierre was silent as he read the note to himself. Suddenly he looked to his pals and announced that he would be leaving for Paris at once. He dropped the Bark-O-Gram on the floor and hurried off to pack.

 Maurice and Zeet looked at each other dumbfounded. Whatever the news was, it must have been big. Pierre had gotten so riled up he’d had yet another accident. Pierre was in fact so riled up that he didn’t even notice and just kept right on walking. Not even stopping to have his accident. Zeet and Maurice had just witnessed their first walking accident. Oh gross! The two stunned hombres wiped the stupid looks off their faces and picked up the Bark-O-Gram; being ever so careful not to touch the wet corner that marked the beginning of Pierre’s latest bout with a seemingly ever-weakening bladder. They couldn’t believe their eyes. The Bark-O-Gram said, "ruff ruf, ruuf ruf rufff rufuf rufuff. Rurur uuff ruff rufff ruuffff ruf fufruffuuf." When translated this meant only one thing… Pierre’s sister Fifi was in big trouble. Maurice, sighting his loyalty to Pierre, declared he too would return to France. Zeet, sighting the fact that in all the photographs he’d seen of Fifi she was an absolute babe, declared that he too would join his friends. So that night, through a hole in the fence, off they went.

 It didn’t take our canine heroes long to reach the seaport from which they would be departing. With the exception of a few pit stops, mandated by Pierre’s every growing bladder problem, the boys made the twenty-mile trip in good time. The only problem now was to locate a ship that would provide safe passage to France, to the troubled Fifi, to escargot.


Zeet, feeling anxious, took out his father’s brains and began to swish them around, as he was prone to do during times of stress. Just as Zeet really had the brains swishing good a forklift happened to drive by. Zeet couldn’t believe his eyes; they had a bad habit of lying to him. He asked Maurice if they were telling him the truth. "Yes," barked Maurice they were telling the truth. The forklift carried boxes with Paris marked as their destination. They were so excited by their good luck that they could hardly contain themselves. Pierre couldn’t. He had another accident. As soon as Pierre was done Zeet and Maurice insisted that Pierre finish, as they couldn’t handle another walking accident, all three of them followed the forklift to the ship. The first thing they knew they were stowed away and bound for France.


Soon Pierre and Maurice would be home. Soon Fifi would be saved. Soon Zeet would be able to see if Fifi was really as fine as her photo’s indicated. And, perhaps, soon Pierre could see a specialist about his little bladder problem.

 The trip went smoothly. The boys were able to find plenty of fresh fruit and were even found by one fresh fruit themselves. Buddy, the captain’s cabin boy.

 Buddy took a liking to the three stowaways instantly. He would bring them table scraps whenever possible and "somehow" convinced the captain to not only allow the boys to stay on board ship, but also to forbid Xai Chang, the ship’s Viet Namese cook, from stewing up any old home recipes.

 Day after day when Buddy would bring the table scraps the boys would look at him longingly only to have Buddy shake his head no. They had not reached France yet Buddy would tell them, but soon enough if they would just be patient. Living in the cargo bay wasn’t really all that bad. There was plenty of room to run around, fresh air as the hatches were open during the day and of course Buddy would come down to play fetch. Zeet was best at tossing the stick so Pierre and Maurice would usually just sit back and encourage Buddy to fetch it again and again. Games like this sure helped pass the time.

 Finally, one day the bay door flew open. There stood Buddy in his finest outfit, tight pink shorts and an olive half shirt. Before any of the lads could comment on Buddy’s interesting style of dress, Buddy burst out; "My friends I welcome you to France!"

 The boys were so happy they danced about. Zeet and Maurice being ever so careful not to step where Pierre had just had his little accident.

 Off the docks and through the streets they went, hurriedly through villages and towns, not stopping except for catnaps and for Pierre’s now serious bladder problem. After nearly three days on the road the boys came upon Paris.

 Wasting no time our three brave poodles headed straight for Fifi’s pad. Upon arriving the house was searched. Not a sign of Fifi anywhere. All of this was too much for Pierre to handle. He was getting so upset he figured might be a good idea to head towards the bathroom. There on the bathroom mirror was a note. The note said, "Le rufff le ruuf le ruuufuf le rrr le rruff le Fifi le rruurruff!" This meant the worst. Fifi had been poodle-napped by none other than Napoleon Bonefart. The meanest white furrball alive. Pierre read the note to his comrades. What to do, what to do…? Maurice suggested that they all go to the local café and formulate a plan over some bowls of warm milk and cognac. All agreed and to Le Pooché they went.


After consuming their warm milk and cognac the lads decided that they should head back to Fifi’s pad since they had not come up with an alternate plan. Just as they were getting up from their table who should burst through the door but that cad himself, Napoleon Bonefart. "Get him," barked Pierre! And at that Fifi’s beloved brother had another accident (this really was becoming an inconvienience). Just then Maurice made his move, rising upon his hind legs he threw a right uppercut to the chin of Napoleon. He was about to follow with a left, when, bam bam bam Napoleon unleashed a flurry of punches that left poor Maurice sprawled on the freshly mopped floor of his favorite drinking establishment. Seeing this, Pierre, had another accident (better make that extremely inconvenient). Out the door ran Napoleon. Zeet giving hot pursuit. Maurice admiring the shine. Pierre having his accident.


Napoleon was fast but not fast enough. At his orphanage Zeet always was the fastest runner in his kennel. Still, Zeet stayed far enough behind the fleeing Napoleon so as not to tip off the scoundrel that he was being followed. Unbeknownst to Napoleon he was leading Zeet right to his hideout. Right to the captive Fifi. Right to the end of this adventure.

 Finally Napoleon stopped running. Into his secret bungalow he ducked. Before he could shut the door behind him in flew the Zeet machine. The sheer force of Zeet flying through the air knocked Napoleon to the ground. Napoleon lay there out cold. Zeet gained his composure and looked up. There before him stood the most beautiful dog he had ever laid his eyes on (or anything else for that matter). It was Fifi. Zeet sniffed Fifi. Fifi sniffed Zeet. It was love, amouré.


As the two strode paw in paw back to Fifi’s pad, where they were sure to find Maurice and Pierre, Fifi asked Zeet what was sloshing around in his pocket. "Oh, just my dad’s brains," said Zeet.


Written By: Jeff Leader
Web Page By: Eric Ness
© Bucketfoot Baseball Publications, 1998