spot the wonder dog
Created | Updated May 16, 2023
Spot the wonder dog
https://h2g2.com/dna/h2g2/alabaster/A88059252
[The story so far: More than ten billion years ago the universe was formed in a giant cataclysm called the Big Bang.
Since then, many wonderful beings have evolved -- Mozart, rare butterflies, coffee trees -- but the most wonderfully talented entity of all was Irving Sprilznick. Sadly, Sprilznick would not let us write about him (he's going through a tough divorce, and he doesn't want his wife to find out too much). We'll just have to make do with the second-place finisher, who was known far and wide as Spot the Wonder Dog (Ta-da!). We now go to the story of Spot's most illustrious endeavor, which is already in progress... ]
"My word, look at the snow," the android exclaimed, peering out the cockpit window. "The visibility must be zero outside."
"Don't worry, I can see just fine," Spot said. "I can even pilot this plane with both paws tied behind my back."
"He really can, you know," Professor Neinstein observed. "Of course, you must remember that dogs can see better than humans. And Spot is an above average dog. That's why he is my seeing-eye dog."
"But this is no ordinary flight," the android protested. "First, we are airlifting a sick baby whale who needs a heart transplant. Second, we are flying over Mount Washington..."
"It's little more than a hill compared to the Himalayas," Spot said with a shrug.
"...in one of the worst blizzards of the century...."
"Don't worry, the snow can't hurt us up here," Doctor Neinstein explained patiently. "The plane has heated wings and ice-resistant paint. Spot has even invented some special wind deflctors. We could fly through a tornado unharmed."
"Okay, okay," the android conceded. "Can the whale hold on until we get to Providence?"
"Moby Medical is open around the clock," Doctor Neinstein said. "Little Dicky's new heart is waiting for him.
Suddenly a loud "clank!" made them all jump. "Engine just fell out," Spot yelped, switching on the autopilot and reaching for his flying belt. "I gotta go fetch it." He opened the cockpit door and jumped out. A gust of frigid air invaded the plane's tiny interior.
"Now we're doomed for sure," the android said, shivering.
"Not necessarily," the professor countered. "On our last trip the engine fell out three times, and Spot got it back every time. He's a golden retriever, you know."
"Um, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," the android said. "His coat is red all over, yet you call him Spot. Does he have spots that the rest of us can't see?"
"I name all my dogs Spot," Professor Neuinstein admitted, smiling with the memories that this observation brought. "You see..."
There was another loud "Clank!" followed by a cloud of snowflakes as Spot leapt into the cockpit and closed the door. "The engine is back in the plane," he said. "It didn't fall far at all. In fact, it landed in Little Dickey's blowhole. I don't think he was hurt, just surprised." He turned to the controls and continued on as before.
"Spot, I've been wondering how you learned to pilot planes," the android said.
"My first master was a pilot. He taught me everything he knew."
The phone rang. It was little Dickey. He was cold and lonely. "Fine, we'll figure out a way to bring you up here with the rest of us," Spot promised. He set up a winch and brought the whale into the warm cabin. The hard part was squeezing little Dickey through the cockpit door, but Spot used mayonnaise from the plane's icebox to grease the doorway.
"And how did you learn to do that?" the android said, a look of awe on his face.
"My second master was the whalekeeper at little Dickey's aquarium."
Not long after this, Providence came into view. Spot guided the plane to a flawless landing. A huge crowd cheered as Spot came through the cockpit door. Little Dickey came through his operation with -- you'll excuse the expression -- flying colours. Spot even found a surgeon who could restore Professor Neinstein's sight. This meant that Neinstein could go back to his previous career as an inventor. He didn't need Spot any more, so he gave him to a jazz pianist. Sadly, the pianist died the next day, so Spot was on his own once more.
"Well, really, how hard could it be to learn jazz piano?" Spot said to himself as he waited for the paramedics to revive his master. "If I play at all well, people will say 'he plays well for a dog.' That wouldbe unfair. I must become as proficient as the best humans." By the time the EMT's declared his master dead, Spot had become brilliant. The EMT's gave him a standing ovation, and uploaded videos of his playing to social media. Within days he was being offered recording contracts and nationwide tours.
Alas, a singing crocodile upstaged him three months later. Oh, well, he enjoyed playing for its own sake, and he didn't have expensive tastes, so he could live on the tips that he got. A year passed. One day he was playing in a piano bar in San Francisco. Professor Neinstein and the android happened to walk in. "This has to be the best pianist in San Francisco, Neinstein was saying when the android nudged him in the ribs.
"Spot is playing the piano," the android whispered.
Spot finished the piece he was playing, and signalled his boss that he needed to take five. He stared at Neinstein, who was using his red-tipped cane again. "Don't tell me the operation didn't work," Spot said.
"Let's get to the point," Neinstein said. "I need a seeing-eye dog again. Are you available?"
"Why do you need a seeing-eye dog when you have the android?" Spot asked.
"The android valet union would never allow it," Neinstein said. "Plus, you're the best valet, as well as the best pilot."
"Well, my next gig isn't until next month, so I could help you until then. But you should be lining up someone else..."
Soon Spot was piloting Neinstein's plane again. Halfway through the flight, Neinstein's ulterior motives became plain. "Spot, I hear that one of the world's top eye surgeons was once your master," he purred.
"That is true," Spot said with a sense of unease.
"Surely you watched some of his operations."
"Professor," Spot said with some indignation, "I'm a guide dog, not a surgeon. Besides, you had an eye operaiton and it didn't work out."
"Come on, Spot," Neinstein wheedled. "Nice doggy Spot."
"If that's how you want it, then I quit!" Spot barked. "You can fly the plane yourself." With that he opened the cockpit door and jumped out....without remembering to put on his flying belt.
Oh, dear. That concludes the tale of Spot, the wonder dog who could do *almost" everything.
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EPILOGUE
Unbeknownst to Professor Neinstein, Spot was well-prepared for survival at high altitudes, thanks to instruction by a former master who had been a Navy SEAL. This master was adept at HALO jumps [High Altitude, Low Opening], whereby someone jumps from a plane at 40,000 feet and goes into freefall until the last 1,000. Also unbeknownst to the professor, Spot had a miniparacute hidden under his collar. Spot quickly assembled the parachute.
As he drifted lower, Spot saw that it was a busy day for the animal world's best and brightest. A few hundred feet to the west, Wanda the Wonder Weasel was escorting some civilian jumpers on their first jump from a plane. Further to the west, Chester the Champion Cheshire Cat was crossing the Grand Canyon on a slender diamond link chain while balancing a ten-foot replica of the Empire State Building on his back. Tyrone the Tremendously Talented Toad had just launched a fully loaded probe of Jupiter's moons, assisted by Chamelone Muskrat. Spot could see the flickering light of the probe as it headed for outer space.
Watching them, Spot remembered some errands he had been postponing. Frst he radioed Neinstein's plane and gave the android a quick lesson on engaging the autopilot and directing it to make a landing on instruments when it reached a suitable airport. The he pulled out his voicemail hookup and returned some calls. Well, some calls could not be returned, such as the one from Queen Elizabeth II. Yikes, he had forgotten to get back to her, and now she was deceased. Well, King Charles III would appreciate Spot's tips on handling Putin and assorted other international miscvreants. Another call was from someone at NASA. An asteroid would be coming too close to the Earth in ten days. The world's top asteroid specialist had once been Spot's master (until his death when an undetected meteorite had come through his roof, killing everyone in the house). Well, Spot relayed whatever he could remember of the master's observations. There were calls from movie directors unsure of how to cast a scene, young brides selecting their first silver patterns, even Irving Sprilznick asing how to invest 100 billion dollars (that was easy: don't buy social media companies). Wait aminute, since when did Sprilznick ask advice form lesser beings?
Hee, hee, Spot thought. I must be the greatest after all. Irving Sprilznick, the richest man in the world, needs Spot the Wonder Dog to advise him in investing. Come to think of it, Spot could live comfortably on just 1% of Sprilznick's wealth. Even better, Spot could become Sprilznick's dog and inherit his wealth after Sprilznick's death.
Thus ends the tale of Spot the Wonder Dog, who became the world's richest dog after becoming Irving Sprilznick's dog. It was ridiculously easy to pull off. Sprilznick asked Spot where the world's safest location was, and Spot pointed out the house where the late meteorite specialist had lived. So Sprilzick had built a lavish mansion there, thinking that the chances of a second meteorite hitting it were exceedingly slim. Well, the first meteorite had been one of a pair. The second one arrived while Spot was in New York conducting his opera about Toto's travels in Oz.
Since then, Spot's public profile has become very low. He is working on reversing global warming, engineering the human genome so that it resists coronaviruses more readily, and outsmarting squirrels. This last project is the most difficult of all. let us wish Spot good luck.
https://h2g2.com/dna/h2g2/alabaster/A88059252
[The story so far: More than ten billion years ago the universe was formed in a giant cataclysm called the Big Bang.
Since then, many wonderful beings have evolved -- Mozart, rare butterflies, coffee trees -- but the most wonderfully talented entity of all was Irving Sprilznick. Sadly, Sprilznick would not let us write about him (he's going through a tough divorce, and he doesn't want his wife to find out too much). We'll just have to make do with the second-place finisher, who was known far and wide as Spot the Wonder Dog (Ta-da!). We now go to the story of Spot's most illustrious endeavor, which is already in progress... ]
"My word, look at the snow," the android exclaimed, peering out the cockpit window. "The visibility must be zero outside."
"Don't worry, I can see just fine," Spot said. "I can even pilot this plane with both paws tied behind my back."
"He really can, you know," Professor Neinstein observed. "Of course, you must remember that dogs can see better than humans. And Spot is an above average dog. That's why he is my seeing-eye dog."
"But this is no ordinary flight," the android protested. "First, we are airlifting a sick baby whale who needs a heart transplant. Second, we are flying over Mount Washington..."
"It's little more than a hill compared to the Himalayas," Spot said with a shrug.
"...in one of the worst blizzards of the century...."
"Don't worry, the snow can't hurt us up here," Doctor Neinstein explained patiently. "The plane has heated wings and ice-resistant paint. Spot has even invented some special wind deflctors. We could fly through a tornado unharmed."
"Okay, okay," the android conceded. "Can the whale hold on until we get to Providence?"
"Moby Medical is open around the clock," Doctor Neinstein said. "Little Dicky's new heart is waiting for him.
Suddenly a loud "clank!" made them all jump. "Engine just fell out," Spot yelped, switching on the autopilot and reaching for his flying belt. "I gotta go fetch it." He opened the cockpit door and jumped out. A gust of frigid air invaded the plane's tiny interior.
"Now we're doomed for sure," the android said, shivering.
"Not necessarily," the professor countered. "On our last trip the engine fell out three times, and Spot got it back every time. He's a golden retriever, you know."
"Um, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," the android said. "His coat is red all over, yet you call him Spot. Does he have spots that the rest of us can't see?"
"I name all my dogs Spot," Professor Neuinstein admitted, smiling with the memories that this observation brought. "You see..."
There was another loud "Clank!" followed by a cloud of snowflakes as Spot leapt into the cockpit and closed the door. "The engine is back in the plane," he said. "It didn't fall far at all. In fact, it landed in Little Dickey's blowhole. I don't think he was hurt, just surprised." He turned to the controls and continued on as before.
"Spot, I've been wondering how you learned to pilot planes," the android said.
"My first master was a pilot. He taught me everything he knew."
The phone rang. It was little Dickey. He was cold and lonely. "Fine, we'll figure out a way to bring you up here with the rest of us," Spot promised. He set up a winch and brought the whale into the warm cabin. The hard part was squeezing little Dickey through the cockpit door, but Spot used mayonnaise from the plane's icebox to grease the doorway.
"And how did you learn to do that?" the android said, a look of awe on his face.
"My second master was the whalekeeper at little Dickey's aquarium."
Not long after this, Providence came into view. Spot guided the plane to a flawless landing. A huge crowd cheered as Spot came through the cockpit door. Little Dickey came through his operation with -- you'll excuse the expression -- flying colours. Spot even found a surgeon who could restore Professor Neinstein's sight. This meant that Neinstein could go back to his previous career as an inventor. He didn't need Spot any more, so he gave him to a jazz pianist. Sadly, the pianist died the next day, so Spot was on his own once more.
"Well, really, how hard could it be to learn jazz piano?" Spot said to himself as he waited for the paramedics to revive his master. "If I play at all well, people will say 'he plays well for a dog.' That wouldbe unfair. I must become as proficient as the best humans." By the time the EMT's declared his master dead, Spot had become brilliant. The EMT's gave him a standing ovation, and uploaded videos of his playing to social media. Within days he was being offered recording contracts and nationwide tours.
Alas, a singing crocodile upstaged him three months later. Oh, well, he enjoyed playing for its own sake, and he didn't have expensive tastes, so he could live on the tips that he got. A year passed. One day he was playing in a piano bar in San Francisco. Professor Neinstein and the android happened to walk in. "This has to be the best pianist in San Francisco, Neinstein was saying when the android nudged him in the ribs.
"Spot is playing the piano," the android whispered.
Spot finished the piece he was playing, and signalled his boss that he needed to take five. He stared at Neinstein, who was using his red-tipped cane again. "Don't tell me the operation didn't work," Spot said.
"Let's get to the point," Neinstein said. "I need a seeing-eye dog again. Are you available?"
"Why do you need a seeing-eye dog when you have the android?" Spot asked.
"The android valet union would never allow it," Neinstein said. "Plus, you're the best valet, as well as the best pilot."
"Well, my next gig isn't until next month, so I could help you until then. But you should be lining up someone else..."
Soon Spot was piloting Neinstein's plane again. Halfway through the flight, Neinstein's ulterior motives became plain. "Spot, I hear that one of the world's top eye surgeons was once your master," he purred.
"That is true," Spot said with a sense of unease.
"Surely you watched some of his operations."
"Professor," Spot said with some indignation, "I'm a guide dog, not a surgeon. Besides, you had an eye operaiton and it didn't work out."
"Come on, Spot," Neinstein wheedled. "Nice doggy Spot."
"If that's how you want it, then I quit!" Spot barked. "You can fly the plane yourself." With that he opened the cockpit door and jumped out....without remembering to put on his flying belt.
Oh, dear. That concludes the tale of Spot, the wonder dog who could do *almost" everything.
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EPILOGUE
Unbeknownst to Professor Neinstein, Spot was well-prepared for survival at high altitudes, thanks to instruction by a former master who had been a Navy SEAL. This master was adept at HALO jumps [High Altitude, Low Opening], whereby someone jumps from a plane at 40,000 feet and goes into freefall until the last 1,000. Also unbeknownst to the professor, Spot had a miniparacute hidden under his collar. Spot quickly assembled the parachute.
As he drifted lower, Spot saw that it was a busy day for the animal world's best and brightest. A few hundred feet to the west, Wanda the Wonder Weasel was escorting some civilian jumpers on their first jump from a plane. Further to the west, Chester the Champion Cheshire Cat was crossing the Grand Canyon on a slender diamond link chain while balancing a ten-foot replica of the Empire State Building on his back. Tyrone the Tremendously Talented Toad had just launched a fully loaded probe of Jupiter's moons, assisted by Chamelone Muskrat. Spot could see the flickering light of the probe as it headed for outer space.
Watching them, Spot remembered some errands he had been postponing. Frst he radioed Neinstein's plane and gave the android a quick lesson on engaging the autopilot and directing it to make a landing on instruments when it reached a suitable airport. The he pulled out his voicemail hookup and returned some calls. Well, some calls could not be returned, such as the one from Queen Elizabeth II. Yikes, he had forgotten to get back to her, and now she was deceased. Well, King Charles III would appreciate Spot's tips on handling Putin and assorted other international miscvreants. Another call was from someone at NASA. An asteroid would be coming too close to the Earth in ten days. The world's top asteroid specialist had once been Spot's master (until his death when an undetected meteorite had come through his roof, killing everyone in the house). Well, Spot relayed whatever he could remember of the master's observations. There were calls from movie directors unsure of how to cast a scene, young brides selecting their first silver patterns, even Irving Sprilznick asing how to invest 100 billion dollars (that was easy: don't buy social media companies). Wait aminute, since when did Sprilznick ask advice form lesser beings?
Hee, hee, Spot thought. I must be the greatest after all. Irving Sprilznick, the richest man in the world, needs Spot the Wonder Dog to advise him in investing. Come to think of it, Spot could live comfortably on just 1% of Sprilznick's wealth. Even better, Spot could become Sprilznick's dog and inherit his wealth after Sprilznick's death.
Thus ends the tale of Spot the Wonder Dog, who became the world's richest dog after becoming Irving Sprilznick's dog. It was ridiculously easy to pull off. Sprilznick asked Spot where the world's safest location was, and Spot pointed out the house where the late meteorite specialist had lived. So Sprilzick had built a lavish mansion there, thinking that the chances of a second meteorite hitting it were exceedingly slim. Well, the first meteorite had been one of a pair. The second one arrived while Spot was in New York conducting his opera about Toto's travels in Oz.
Since then, Spot's public profile has become very low. He is working on reversing global warming, engineering the human genome so that it resists coronaviruses more readily, and outsmarting squirrels. This last project is the most difficult of all. let us wish Spot good luck.
