"Donald's Pet Service"

So, no joke: I actually was planning on writing this entry--I had the panels to use all chosen and everything--when friend-of-the-blog Debbie Anne posted a panel from it on facebook, and said that she didn't remember the story itself. So, that gave me an incentive to get it done.

The story here is pretty standard stuff: Donald starts this new enterprise that provides opportunities for misadventures to occur. And then...they do. But it's Barks, so you can be pretty sure it'll be worth reading anyway.

As we like to do, let's take a survey of the art in Donald's house. First, that odd thing in the upper right of the first panel, that looks like it might be some kind of photo negative. Are those minarets? Is this a cityscape from some Islamic country? Or are they just smokestacks? Interesting choice in any event. And then let's not overlook the other picture, with its unsettling cluster of duck heads that may or may not be silently passing judgment on the characters. Sometimes I feel like the Duck house would be a creepy place to live.

Finally, note that this originally appeared in WDC 200. Barks celebrated the occasion by doing...the usual thing. And why not? I don't know what that 575 next to the 200 in the bottom of the last panel signifies.

We begin, as well we should, with the most "normal" item on the list, A Large Dog. THIRTY POUNDS OF DOG FOOD. For that, I'm expecting some sort of Clifford-esque monstrosity.

Yup, it's a pretty big dog. BUUUUT...for comparison purposes, my parents have two dogs. They're nothing like the one here, but they're large-ish beasts. Maybe half the size of this unnamed (unless "Puppy" is meant to be its name) animal. And they each get three cups of dog food a day (plus miscellaneous biscuits). Whereas, if the internet can be trusted, thirty pounds would be about sixty cups. You thought you'd get away with this flagrant error, Barks?!? Not while I'm on the case!

Anyway, the main thing Louie suffers here (yes, it's Louie; as you know, the hat colors had not been standardized at this time) is a log falling on him. He really shouldn't complain. It seems like pretty minor stuff in the long or short or medium run.

Next one is these Hummingbirds of Doom. I've long had this idea for a horror movie where woodpeckers develop a taste for HUMAN BRAINS and start pecking on people's heads instead of wood. So, you know. Okay, it's silly, but I feel this is sillier still; hummingbirds are such fragile little creatures that this idea comes off as even goofier. Sad to say, I think the real-world result of this ZOW behavior would be...all of them collapsing, dead. Not a very edifying conclusion for the episode, admittedly.

And for this one, of course, there's no danger at all, just annoyance. But man, what annoyance. Because, I mean, if there are flies there are flies, but often there simply AREN'T, and then what do you do? Maybe these people maintain a fly-heavy environment, but in that case you'd expect him to be able to find more.

"Who, I suspect, is a horse." There's that odd Barks diction popping up again. This is one thing about Barks that no one would imitate, but you see it all the time. Is it part of his inimitable charm, or is he great in spite of it? Difficult to say.

...but I do have to say, that bottom right panel is one of Donald's most dickish moments. The kid just saved you shitloads of work; you could at least display a little gratitude? Maybe?

"Who, no doubt, is a cat." There it is again! The sort of thing you'd see more often in writing than you would in speech. Is there some cultural reason that I don't get why you'd automatically assume that "Annie" would be a cat's name?

You know...when I was in Borneo (god, this makes me sound so much more cosmopolitan than I actually am), we went on a night hike in the jungle, and we came across some fire ants doing their thing--marching en masse across the path--and the guide hurried us by, because it would've been possibly dangerous and certainly unpleasant to get up close and personal with them. But Barks seems to have this idea that all kinds of ants will fuck your shit up--see the earlier story now known as "Donald Duck Rants About Ants." They're not that dangerous, dude! Or dangerous at all.

...and, I mean, if the only problem is that they tickle... really, now. What would it be like to have an anteater as a pet? Well, it's probably not a good idea, as these things so rarely are. This gal's kinda cute, though, I suppose.

Now we get to the somewhat terrifying part. That is some ominous foreshadowing right there.

Yay! This image is cool, yet kind of alarming. I like. But--I mean, I don't want to get too graphic here, but it's hard not to--if they're being fed whole friggin' goats, isn't the pool going to quickly become a horrific mess of blood and bone fragments? Well, I guess maybe not if they're prepared properly. But I still can't help but think that it would need VERY regular cleaning.

For no particular reason, here we have two nephews being clumsy. It does kind of crack me up.

Well, in fairness, now that you know what you're up against, it shouldn't be as bad. You can prepare for at least some of the stuff, and as long as you're careful, most of the animals shouldn't be a problem. But granted, Donald is surely the Most Dangerous Game here. Gripe! Gripe! Gripe! indeed.