Martha My Dear, Where Have You Gone?

Part 1

"Ahh, look at the snow, Martha! It's absolutely beautiful!" Paul McCartney exclaimed as he peered out of the partially fogged-over window and then back to his dog.

Martha, his beloved sheepdog, had previously been lying down, comfortable and content, until her master had suddenly hopped out of his recliner and pointed towards the cold window, seeming quite enthused. Now, she had become extremely excited and so she decided to join him.

"Ruff!" Martha barked as she jumped onto an unprepared Paul.

"Woah!" he cried as he fell onto his back, Martha now standing on his chest as she vigorously licked his face. "Hang on a minute, girl!" he laughed. "I-I can't breathe!" he tried as she continued to lick and tickle his famous persona. "Okay, okay, you win!" he sputtered as she then got off of him, which allowed him to finally catch his breath.

Wiping the spit off of his cheeks, he looked up at his companion and smiled happily. "You silly girl," he muttered affectionately as he grabbed her by the collar before petting her with much love and passion. She simply leaned into the heavenly feeling and let out a small bark, as if to say, "I love you and I thank you for petting me." Paul seemed to understand, which caused him to giggle and smile even wider, if that was possible.

"Say, Martha, I've got an idea," Paul piped up after he had finished petting Martha's thick, unruly coat of hair. "Why don't we go for a walk? It's such a beautiful, snowy day I'd hate to waste it. I could even ask John if he'd like to come with us. How does that sound?"

Martha, upon hearing the word 'walk,' immediately began to bark and jump. She hopped onto Paul's leg and then off again and then turned in a dizzying circle.

"Bark! Bark! Bark!" she cried.

"I take that as a yes, then," Paul chuckled as he walked over to his black, rotary telephone. "Let me ask John, and then we'll be off."

As if she knew what her master was doing, she instantly stopped barking and sat, quietly and patiently.

"Good girl," Paul grinned as he dialed the correct number.

Seconds later, he was greeted with the sound of his best mate's voice.

"Hello?" John Lennon answered.

"Hello, John!" Paul returned kindly.

"What do ya want, Macca? Calling to tell me I need to actually move instead of sitting on my rear?"

"Is that what you're doing now?" Paul asked, stifling laughter.

"What's it to you?"

"Well, I just don't want your arthritis to set in. You know how ornery you get," Paul chided, impersonating an elderly woman.

"I know, Helen, but it isn't stopping me, is it?" John played along, now impersonating an elderly man.

"Well, that's why you've got me. Would you like to go for a little walk with Martha and me?"

Silence then filled Paul's ears, for John hadn't yet responded. After a few more seconds, Paul finally grew impatient.

"Um, John? Are you still there?" he pressed, breaking character.

"Oh, yeah! Sorry, Macca!" he cried, seeming as if he was being dragged away from deep thought. "I guess I was just distracted by the amount of stupidity that that question possessed."

"And what exactly does that mean?" Paul sighed.

"It means that you're loony if you think that I'm gonna come outta my nice, warm house to walk with you and your mutt! It must be 28 below out there!"