Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Feedback Episode - Odd Jobs & The Turlingtons’ Dog

Episode Date: April 10, 2026

“It would work so much better if we could plug the toaster in at the table”Two of your most-requested Vinyl Cafe stories on this week’s show. Some vintage Stuart McLean, at your service! Ad-free listening is here! Listen to the pod ad-free and early, PLUS a whole bunch of other goodies – like virtual parties, Q&As, listener shout-outs & more. Subscribe here: apostrophe.supercast.com Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the apostrophe podcast network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. Today's show is all about you. I want to know what's working for you and what isn't, and I want to play the stories that you most often request. That's where we're going to start today with your most requested stories, but put your feedback cap on, because that's coming up next.

First, this. This is Stuart McLean with Odd Jobs. It was on a Saturday in September. The Dave and Morley sat eating breakfast and Morley looked at the toaster and said it would work so much better if we could plug it in at the table. So we wouldn't have to get up and walk across the kitchen every time someone wanted toast. It was just an idle thought. But it struck her as a good one. So then she said, maybe we should get her.

someone in to move it. The next morning, Dave was sitting alone at the breakfast table, looking at the toaster on the other side of the kitchen, thinking, I should move the plug myself. Morley was at work, they were opening a new play. The kids were still asleep. Dave had the whole day stretched out before him like a white line running down the center of a highway.

How complicated could it be for an old roadie? How complicated could it be for an old roadie to run some wire, through a wall and install a plug. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea, and what he liked best of all was that he would get to knock holes in the kitchen wall. It felt good just thinking about that. Dave fetched a hammer from the basement, and then, like a Spanish conquistador,

sealing the fate of his troops by burning his ship as soon as his last man stepped on shore, Dave raised the hammer over his head, and swung it at the wall with all his might. Hayah! The hammer sunk into the wall with a pleasing thumb. A few more quick swings, and Dave had a hole the size of a melon. He stood back and admired it,

and then he wondered where the wires were going to come from. He thought maybe he should check his big Reader's Digest book of home repairs. He knew he could probably figure this out without the Reader's Digest's help, but there could be no harm in check. The book wasn't upstairs. It wasn't downstairs either. It wasn't anywhere. He wondered if Jim Schofield, his neighbor, had his repair book. He glanced at the kitchen clock. Jim was the kind of neighbor you visited rather than phoned. I don't have your book said Jim, but I have a new mallet. I can't believe you started without me. Let me go get it. Jim and Dave stared at the

hole where Dave wanted to put the new plug. But where's the wire coming from? asked Jim. That's what I was wondering, said Dave. Jim pointed at a light switch by the back door. There'd be wire over there we could patch into, he said. And then he smiled. Of course, he said, we'll have to punch a hole in the wall to pick it up. Jim was fiddling with this new mallet. Be my guess, said Dave.

Are you sure, said Jim, moving towards the back wall, not waiting for an answer? There were wires there. In fact, when Jim stepped back and they both peeked in his hole, wires were about all they could see. All sorts of wires. Black, shiny wires, gray cloth-covered wires. Jim pointed at a gray wire running through a porcelain insulator. Knob and tube said, Jim, I didn't think that stuff was legal anymore. Now those aren't live, said Dave, I had an electrician in to replace all that a couple of years ago. Dave reached into the hole with a screwdriver and jiggled the old wire. There was a sudden puff of smoke.

and Dave gasps in the right side of his body jerk spastically and a deep alien-like moan rolls out of him and the screwdriver's flying across the kitchen end over end like a tomahawk ricochishing off the kitchen sink and disappearing through the window. There was a moment of stunned silence Jim and Dave both staring at the broken window shards of glass tinkling to the floor. Could you do that again, says Jim.

The way the chip of porcelain from the sink followed the screwdriver through the window. Bert Turlington, who lives next door, is ringing the front doorbell. Standing on the stoop with Dave's screwdriver in his hand. This yours, he asked. We're moving some wires, says Dave. Got a shock. You're moving wires, says Bert. I got one of those power drills for my birthday.

Maybe I should bring it over. Something inexplicable happens when a man picks up a tool to do home repairs. Some force is yet undescribed by science, but nevertheless well-known to women. It's a force that lures men away from their families and the things they're supposed to be doing to a place where hammers are being swung. Maybe the act of a hammer moving through the air sets off a cosmic thrumming, only men can hear. Or maybe when a man picks up a screwdriver, he releases an odor. Only men with tools can smell. It's a musty, yeasty, sweet sort of smell.

with a hint of leather in WD40, and men in their backyards raking leaves, and men in their basements listening to ball games on portable radios or seized by this odor only they can smell. It seizes them like the urge to migrate, seizes lesser species. And suddenly they're thinking, I don't belong here anymore.

I belong in another place, and I should be doing something else, and I should take my coping saw with me just in case. Men can sense it, when a wall is coming down and they can't help the fact that they have to be there to watch it fall, or better yet, help push it over. It's been argued that the fall of the Berlin Wall had nothing whatsoever to do with the collapse of communism. It was just a weekend project that got out of the control,

was the next neighbor to arrive at Dave's house on that Saturday we're talking about. He burst through the front door without knocking. Dave and Jim looked up and he's standing in the kitchen. Hi, said Carl trying to slow himself down, trying to act nonchalant. Need any help? He's carrying a bright yellow thing about the size of an electric drill, except more dangerous looking. It looks like a cross between an oozy and a woodpecker. It's his reciprocal saw. Carl got the saw last Christmas.

It's his pride and joy, but there are only so many holes a man can cut in his own house before he is told to stop. At the end of August, when Carl's wife, Gerta, went downstairs with a load of laundry and found Carl cutting random holes in a sheet of plywood, she took the saw away from him, and later she said he could have it back if he stood in front of the house on Saturday mornings with a sign around his neck, Knead holes cut. There were seven men in Dave's kitchen. Two of them, friends of Jim Schofield, who Dave had never met before. Guys with tools. There were now a series of 12 melon-sized holes

punched in the kitchen wall at two-foot intervals, leading from the light switch by the back door to the hole where Dave intended to install the plug for the toaster. Twelve holes and seven busy men. Jim and Dave routering putty out of the broken window. Phil Harrison sucking up plaster dust with Carl Lobeer's shop vac. The two men Dave didn't know racing a pair of belt sanders along the floor. Six power tools operating at the same time in Dave's house.

Sam arrived downstairs, rubbing his eyes, taking in the chaos of his kitchen, and asking the most reasonable question, what's for breakfast? Toast, said Dave. He said this without turning the router off or an even. turning around, Sam stared at his father's back for a moment, and then he shrugged and dropped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. Then the lights went out, and the tools died. And in the sudden and overwhelming silence, someone, Bert Turlington, I think, said, do you smell that? And then there was smoke hanging in the air, like wisps of fog. And someone said, we overloaded the wires,

the wires are burning. Cut the wall open, over here. And Carl Loebbeer jumped up and said, My saw works on batteries. And he lurched toward the wall, revving his reciprocal saw in front of him. And before anyone could stop him, Carl had cut a hole in the wall the size of a loaf of bread. Not there, said Burke Turlington. Here. Coming, coming, coming, said Carl. Moving around the kitchen like a mass murderer. cutting a second hole five feet down the wall, Sam's eyes as wide as saucers. I've got a fire extinguisher in the truck, said one of the men Dave didn't know.

They found the remnants of the fire with the third hole, a mouse nest leaning against the overheated wires. It had burned itself out. The man with a fire extinguisher gave it a blast just in case. At 1215, Dave took stock of what they, had accomplished, the broken window, the chipped sink, 15 holes, the sodden plaster where they had used the extinguisher. Arnie Schellenberger looked at Dave and said, Dave, when's Morley coming home? Dave said, not until tonight, not until 10, 11. Arnie said, there's an electrician I know from

the plant. He might come over. If you did the window, he could do the wiring and we could patch the holes by. He looked his wrist, 10? You need this done fast, right? Dave nodded. The electrician pointed to the back wall of Dave's kitchen. We're going to pop out the drywall. We're going to take that wall down to the studs. That way I can get it, everything at once.

Dave was looking worried. It'll be the fast, said the electrician. He looked at Carl, cut around the top of the ceiling, and along the baseboard, and we'll pop it out, nice and simple. Carl was beaming. Morley came home soon after nine. When she turned onto their street, she noticed her house looked strangely dark. She pulled into the driveway and parked the car and gathered an armful of junk, her purse, a sweater, some files.

She headed toward the back door. She was exhausted. She dropped a file and stooped to pick it up, and it was only then, only then that she noticed the warm glow of candles, flickering through the back window. And she felt a wave of affection roll over her. Dave had made a romantic meal. She had barely eaten all day. She was smiling as she opened the back door.

She put her purse down and called hello, and then she stopped dead in her tracks. Sometimes you're confronted by things that are so far from what you expect that there's a momentary disconnect. Your brain is unable to process what it is looking at. Morley looked around her kitchen. There were candles everywhere. And flashlights and snake lights and men.

There were four men in her kitchen, all of them on their hands and knees. Four strangers on their hands and knees staring at her the way a family of raccoons might stare at you. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she was able to take in more details. The men were holding tools. There was a pile of pizza boxes on the floor and an empty case of beer and Sam. Her son Sam sprawled out beside the pizza boxes asleep. Her son passed out. This was her kitchen.

But two of the walls were missing. She looked at the men again. One of them stood up. Hi, I'm Ted, he said. The electrician. We'll have this cleared up in just a minute or two. And then she saw Dave. Her husband, crawling towards her across what was left of her kitchen.

He stopped about 10 feet away. High, he said. And then he waved his arm around the room at the broken window, at the 15 holes in the wall, at the back wall, which had completely disappeared, and he said, we're fixing the toaster. Morley's mouth opened, but no words came out. It closed and then it opened again. she seemed to be trying to say something.

Dave nodded, trying to encourage her like they were playing charades. Her mouth kept opening and closing. But no sound came out. And then without saying anything, not one word morally turned around and walked out of the house and got in her car and backed out of the driveway. And Dave said, it's okay, she'll be back in a minute. And Bert said, I think I should be good.

going. And Carl said, me too. And Dave said, maybe if we could just get the power on. Morley wasn't back in a minute. She wasn't back for nearly an hour. When she returned, she walked across the kitchen and opened the freezer door, and about a cup of water trickled onto the floor. And she let out a muffled sob. Dave helped her empty the freezer, and they deposited plastic bags of food in an assortment of neighborhood fridges. They're all within easy walking distance, Dave pointed out helpfully. The renovation took six weeks to finish. Dave worked on it alone until the middle of the next week.

Everything seemed to be working fine until Sam came home from school and showed them how he could turn the microwave on with a TV remote. So they called in an electrician to finish the job, a methodical and trustworthy man. It was the electrician who spotted the lead pipes running into the upstairs bathroom. And he said, if you want to have them replaced, you might as well do it while you have the walls down. So they had the plumbers in and had the entire upstairs bathroom redone. And downstairs where the back wall was, Morley had one of those bay windows put in.

Which is something she's always wanted, and she has a herb garden going in the window space. Dave was admiring the plants the other evening, standing in the window and looking out into the yard, admiring the new view. It's a beautiful window, and he likes it, especially in the morning when the light is soft. Last Saturday, Dave and Morley were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper, and the kids were still in bed, and it was lovely to be there together. The sun drifting down on the coriander, Morley sipping her coffee, and then standing up and walking over to the counter to make some toast. Don't you think it would work better if we could plug it in at the table?

So we wouldn't have to get up and walk across the kitchen every time someone wanted to use the toaster. That was Stuart McLean with one of the most requested stories of all time. That was odd jobs. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes, so stick around. Welcome back. Before we play our second story, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. we're well into season seven of the podcast now isn't that wild seven seasons and i've loved sharing stewart stories with you every week i know gregg and louise have too it's been such a joy remembering

those days on the road and all the behind-the-scenes stories and memories of stewart but i thought it was time to check in depending on how often you listen and i know there are many of you who listen every weekend just like when we were on the radio Depending on how often you listen, you might have noticed something. We've now played all of the Dave and Morley stories, at least once, all of them. Stewart wrote close to 170 Dave and Morley stories, which is incredible when you think of it, and we're so lucky to have them. But, yeah, somehow we've managed to get through them all. So I thought it was time to ask, how are you feeling about that?

Do you like hearing them again? Do you want us to keep going? Would you still listen if some episodes included stories that we've played you before? I mean, I still have plenty to talk about when don't I. And there's so much beautiful material in the archive that we haven't even touched yet. But I want your feedback on how you're feeling about all of this, about the stories and the structure of the podcast overall now that we're a few seasons in. So email us, will you have Vinyl Cafe at Vinylcafe.com or find us on Facebook or Instagram? Or just head to Vinylcafe.com. There's a contact us page right there.

All right, that's enough of that housekeeping business. Time for our second story now. This is Stuart McLean with the Turlington's dog. Dave's neighbor, Burke Turlington. Successful criminal lawyer devoted to husband to farm. mother of free has always desperately, passionately, unswervingly wanted a dog. Bert wanted a dog his whole life. Wanting a dog is one of Bert's very first memories.

But he learned early that having a dog in his mother's house was out of the question. I'm allergic, said Mrs. Turlington over and over. Bert believed that. Until the summer, he and his family shared a beach house in Prince Edward Island with Bert's aunt and uncle and their English sheepdog. And his mother, glaringly free from sneezes and sniffles, was forced to reword her objection. It's more of an emotional allergy, she explained. Bert always thought he would get a dog the moment he left home.

But when he left, he left for university. and found himself without the money, the time or space for dog. After graduation, he dated a woman who owned a golden retriever. His relationship with her was good, but his relationship with the dog was great. He ended up sticking around her for a good year longer than he should have because he was so fond of the dog. And then Bert met Mary. Mary was more direct than his mother.

More fuss and bother than their worth is how Mary described dogs. She said this more than once. Finally, with such exasperation that Bert suspected that's how she'd start describing him if he raised the subject one more time. So Bert chose a life with Mary over a life with a lab. Most of the time he felt he'd made the right choice. And as the years unfolded, Bert settled into his dogless life.

So Bert was completely surprised when one Saturday morning, Mary strode into the kitchen and said, do you know what I think this family needs? Adam, her son, who was morosely scrubbing the breakfast dishes, was the only one to answer. Paper plates, said Adam. What this family needs said Mary, ignoring him, is a dog. Bert almost fell off his chair.

Bert didn't care why Mary had suddenly softened on the subject of dogs. He didn't care if she was, as he suspected, subverting her wistful memories of young motherhood under the cloak of puppy love. He didn't care if no one in the family had any interest in her suggestion. Bert was a man who had been granted his three wishes all at once. Bert was a man about to experience his greatest desire. He went straight to his computer and started researching. Plunked in front of a computer screen,

Bert dreamed of tough and no-nonsense bull terriers, of lively energetic Dalmatians, of handsome Irish satyrs with their red, silky manes. He could throw Mary a bone. An Irish satir would compliment their living room. But Bert knew where he was heading all along. The bull, terrier, and the Dalmatian were just diversions. Bert was a man who had sublimated his desire far too long,

not to know its ideal incarnation. Bert was heading to the land of chocolate labs. In Bert's mind, a chocolate lab was the most perfect dog in the world. Bert had just begun compiling his list of Labrador breeders, had just started making phone calls and checking references when he came home from work to discover his kitchen roiling in commotion. The twins jumping around in excitement, Adam and Mary huddled together,

their eyes glued to the floor. There was the sound of squeaking and scratching, and then a small knot of white fur the size of a tennis ball bounced across the kitchen and slid to a stop at Bert's feet. the furry thing was clearly alive but Bert wasn't sure what life form it was it looked like a hamster

what said Bert confused it's a teacup Pomeranian said Mary what said Bert a pomeranian said Mary a very special kind of dog what said Bert Mary was beaming The breeder says they can grow to be as big as seven pounds. But she's pretty sure tissue won't get bigger than six.

Who, said Bert? Wow, said Adam. She's so tiny. Is she the runt of the litter? Don't be silly, snorted Mary. You don't pay $1,800 for the small one. What, said Bert? It took a few months for Bert to accept that this tiny creature,

was the family dog, the only family dog. While the truth gnawed its way into Bert's consciousness, Mary undertook the care and feeding of her newest charge. And it was pretty obvious that Mary had been transported back in time. There was a feeding schedule taped to the fridge, and there were several leashes, a matching set of food and water bowls, an everyday caller, and one for special occasions. What kind of special occasions could a dog have?

Asked Bert in exasperation. Mary even found a recipe for homemade dog biscuits and spent a Saturday afternoon using a tiny cookie cutter in the shape of a bone to punch out miniature treats. The only thing Mary didn't take in stride was the fur. Tissue was a shatter. Mary assigned the twins' brushing duties, but no matter how much grooming,

tissue underwent, tell-tale wisps of white fur floated around the house like defiant butterflies. Now, if there's one thing Mary believes in, it's vacuuming. The sound of the vacuum cleaner has long been the soundtrack for the Turlington household. Most dogs, well, I don't have to tell you, most dogs hate vacuums. In the first few days at the Turlington's tissue tried to scare the thing away by growling. barking every time it appeared. But the vacuum continued to hove into view every few hours and eventually, like the rest of the family, tissue began to ignore it. One day, Bert walked into the living room to see Mary holding tissue while she ran a dustbuster over the dog's back. It was about a month

after tissue arrived when Mary came home from work and handed Bert a small square of plaid wool. What's this? said Bert. Tissues coat, said Mary. And booties. What? said Bert. She needs to start getting some real exercise, said Mary. You can take her for a walk. You're the dog lover. For all his years arguing in court, Bert has never won one at home. Like it or not, Bert was going to be taking tissue for her daily walk. Mary wrestled tissue in her tiny little coat and boots and then pushed the two reluctant walkers, man and dog, out the front door. Tissue made it to the end of the snowy driveway when she started to whimper. Her booties were too big. Three of them had fallen off. Bert shoved them into his pocket. Tissue refused to take another step on the ice. Bert tried to get her

moving. Come on, he said. Come on, let's go, he said. We're going for a walk. And that's when Ted Anderson drove by. Ted didn't see tissue. Ted thought Bert was talking to his own feet. Jim Schofield passed next. Bert could tell by the smirk on his face that Jim had spotted tissue. Bert knew that Jim was thinking what every self-respecting man would think when he saw Bert leading a tiny tartan-clad Pomeranian down the street. Jim was thinking, there goes another dumb schmuck walking his wife's dog. As Bert slunk home, he wondered why he was feeling so embarrassed. Jim Schofield had a cat, for heaven's sakes.

But Jim's cat was a darn sight bigger than Tishab. And he went outside by himself. And when cats go outside, they behave differently, like teenagers. They pretend they don't know you. Cats can be just as embarrassed by you as you might be by them. The next night, Bert decided that he would walk tissue with Dave and Arthur. He tucked tissue into his jacket, and he headed out. As he got to the bottom of his driveway, Bert spotted Dave and tissue spotted Arthur.

As soon as she did, Bert knew they were in trouble. Dave saw Bert walking toward him, and he waved. And then he stopped and he frowned. There was something wrong. Bert seemed different. He looked like he was in pain. His mouth was twisted and he was clutching his chest. He looked as if he was trotching.

to hold himself together. Bert, said Dave, Dave had stopped dead. Bert was sort of staggering toward him. His chest was distended and moving. There was something in Bert's chest, something writhing. And Dave, who had been thinking Bert is having a heart attack, suddenly flashed on that movie with Sigourney Weaver. That horrifying moment when the alien fought its way out of the guy's chest.

And it was at that moment when Bert's jacket ripped open. And Dave heard the sound of tearing and snarling and saw the flash of tiny alien fangs snapping and biting at Bert. Dave cried, help! And he leapt backwards without realizing that Arthur was cowering behind him. And there was a tangle of arms and legs. Dave and Arthur flailing and fear and panic as the small ball of fur bounced around them yipping and yapping. Bert helped Dave off the sidewalk And then without a word

Scoop the furry alien up into his arms And headed back up his driveway And into his house And so, Bert gave up on his idea Of walking his dog with Dave Instead, he took tissue To the corner and back early in the morning When he was less likely to run into anyone

He fashioned a short dog run in the backyard and enclosed it in chicken wire so that the squirrels wouldn't get to tissue. He tried not to think of tissue as a dog exactly. He told himself he had a cat that didn't purr. He was sitting at the dining room table on a Saturday morning several weeks later working on a case when he heard one of the twins calling. It was Christina. She sounded desperate.

Bert raced upstairs and into their bedroom. The twins were staring at the floor. floor. Bert noticed the cover of the hot air vent lying on the floor beside them. Exactly. I dropped a to to-ney, said Chris. We took the cover off to get it. Tissue fell down the hole, said Christina. We can't get her out. There was a tiny yip from the vent. Bert got on his knees, and sure enough, about a foot down the shaft, there was a patch, a white fur, and a couple of familiar ears. When she saw Bert, tissue. began to wriggle and scrabble, but she couldn't get back up the vent.

Bert reached down, but there wasn't enough room to get his hand around the dog. Bert sat back on his heels and side. Nothing like this had ever happened with his girlfriend's golden retriever. He looked down the vent again. A small tuft of fur lifted off tissues back and floated toward him. And suddenly, Bert knew what he would do. right there, he said to tissue

unnecessarily. Now most dogs would have been terrorized when Bert started up Mary's industrial vacuum cleaner. But tissue looked at the looming vacuum that Bert was feeding down that air vent

and sighed contentedly. Bert kept lowering the hose until he heard the whoosh of the nozzle making contact with tissue's fur. He waited until the seal was good and tight And then he yanked And there was a And then Bert was trying to get control of the hose

Which was waving around over his head Like an enormous fur-top baton When Bert eventually turned the vacuum off Tissue plopped into his outstretched hand She nuzzled his palm And gave his wrist a sloppy lick Bert held tissue against his chest and stroked her small back for a few moments, and then he lowered her gently to the floor.

The next day, Bert decided to try his hand at making dog biscuits. Tissue rubbed around his feet the whole time he was cooking. Every once in a while, Bert reached down and scratched behind her ears. When Bert had the cookies in the oven, he picked up the mixing bowl and moved towards the dishwasher, and then he had a thought. He put the mixing bowl on the ground, scooped tissue up, and dropped her into the bowl. She stood there for a second, wagging her tail, and then she began to lick the sides of the bowl with lightning speed.

Bert leaned against the counter and smiled. As the months passed, Bert took more and more care of tissue. Sometimes he gripes about it to his neighbors and friends. got to take Mary's dog to the vet for shots, or I was up at 6 this morning to let Mary's dog outside. To hear Bert tell it, tissue was Mary's dog, and the next family pet, if he had anything to do with it, would be a chocolate lab or maybe a Dalmatian. But what Bert doesn't tell us all is that his favorite time of the day is no longer that moment when he walks through his front door at the end of the day.

Bert's favorite moment now happens just as the sun peaks above the horizon the moment tissue arrives at his side of the bed with her leash in her mouth the moment a few moments later when he cracks open the front door

and the two of them man and dog head out on their morning walk Bert's footsteps echoed by the tiny clique of tissue's Pause. That was the Turlington's dog.

We recorded that story at the Minidosa Community Conference Center in Minidosa, Manitoba, back in 2009. All right, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with another Dave and Morley story. Jim gave Molly her first pill that evening. It was a battle of heroic. proportions. The only instructions the vet had given Jim were to put the pill at the back of the cat's tongue. You try that sometime. Vet didn't mention how you're supposed to get yourself near the tongue of an angry calf. By the time Jim managed to get the pill into Molly, his hands were covered in tiny bite marks. He looked like somebody had been trying to staple him to something.

The two pills a day, Jim figured he'd be shredded by the weekend. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. And don't forget, if you want to send us your ideas or your feedback or anything, really, check out our website, vinalcafe.com. We have a contact us page there. Or you can find us on Facebook at Vinyl Cafe or Instagram at Vinyl Cafe Stories. Don't be shy. Feedback is how I learn.

It's the only way that I'll know what's working for you and what isn't. and I really want this to keep working for you. I love it so much. So please don't hold back, okay? Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the apostrophe podcast network. The recording engineer is someone who would never allow a feedback loop, Greg DeClute. Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeClute, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.