499 - If I Can't Make It In Politics

I have an idea for a comedy sketch, and I don't want any of you stealing it and passing it off as your own.

Imagine the hills of Montana in the dawn light. A woman on a horse with a cigarette in her mouth and a Golden Retriever at the feet of the horse is gazing into the distance in the mid-ground of the shot. The title appears: "The Whisperer Whisperer". The woman rides her horse back to her ranch, where a pick-up truck is pulling up and stops quickly. A short man jumps out; he's followed by a German Shepherd, who abruptly falls to the ground in a slouch.

Man: "I've lost it! (sobs) He won't listen to me. He just goes slack. No sitting, no fetching, no rolling over. We have to shoot a special on training police dogs in an hour and he won't even sniff a lady dog!"

The woman dismounts, puts her hand on the man's shoulder, and leans toward him. She says something inaudible in his ear, and the man's head drops. He nods. He puts his hand on hers, says, "Thank you, Caitlin." A tear drops from his eye. He wipes it away, snaps his finger at the door, growls something in German. The dog sits up, cocks his head and jumps in the truck. The man follows without saying goodbye, and you see them drive off with the dog sitting proudly in the front seat looking at the window.

The woman shakes her head. She throws her reins over the saddle, but before she can lead the horse into the barn, Robert Redford drives up. He unleashes a tirade about the Sundance Festival, sell-outs, bad botox. The woman looks confused, then nods. She looks off toward the mountains, and gives Redford a cigarette. He calms, and waits. She leans into his car, puts her finger under his chin, looks in his eyes, and says, "You know what needs to be done". Redford squints, and says, "Yeah, I do." With a deep inhale, he thanks her and goes.

Credits rolls and then "Next on: The Whisperer Whisperer"

Cut to her sitting on her porch, when a man in a lab coat drives up. It's the Baby Whisperer. They'd had a falling out years ago; she can't believe he's come back. He strides over and hands her a medical file as though he came all the time. She brushes away his pride with a glance. He drops his head. She thumbs through the folder and says, "This is no different from the kid back in 1991. You got through that; you'll get through this without me."

"No I can't," the doctor says, "this one is, well . . . It's his parents. They're beyond me." She nods, lights a cigarette.

"Consider this," she says, leaning forward in her seat towards him. They put their heads together and the man nods slowly several times. Fade out.