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Now I wanna be your dog
Mar. 21st, 2008 | 08:09 pm
So messed up I want you here
In my room I want you here
Now were gonna be face-to-face
And Ill lay right down in my favorite place
And now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well cmon
Now Im ready to close my eyes
And now Im ready to close my mind
And now Im ready to feel your hand
And lose my heart on the burning sands
And now I wanna be your dog
And now I wenna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well cmon
In my room I want you here
Now were gonna be face-to-face
And Ill lay right down in my favorite place
And now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well cmon
Now Im ready to close my eyes
And now Im ready to close my mind
And now Im ready to feel your hand
And lose my heart on the burning sands
And now I wanna be your dog
And now I wenna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well cmon
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With any luck, I would be with Willy soon.
Mar. 17th, 2008 | 07:04 pm
I set out to prove that I was a champion among dogs. I waited for a break in the traffic. Then I began to run. I felt stronger and happier than I had felt in months. I ran toward the noise, toward the light, toward the glare and the roar that were rushing in on me from all directions.
With any luck, I would be with Willy soon.
With any luck, I would be with Willy soon.
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The moment you lost, you won.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 11:44 am
It was called dodge-the-car, and it was a time-honored sport. It allowed every old-timer to recapture the glories of his youth. It was fun, it was invigorating. It was a challenge to every dog's athletic skills. Just run across the road and see if you could avoid being hit. The more times you were able to do it, the greater the champion you were. Sooner or later, of course, the odds were bound to catch up with you, and few dogs had ever played dodge-the-car without losing on their last turn. But that was the beauty of this particular game. The moment you lost, you won.
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I understood that salvation was at hand.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 11:42 am
I didn't have to wait for the time to come; the time was upon me now. All I had to do was step into the road, and I would be in Timbuktu. I would be in the land of words and transparent toasters, in the country of bicycle wheels and burning deserts where dogs talked as equals with men.
Willy would disapprove at first, but that was only because I would think that I had gotten there by taking my own life. But I wasn't proposing anything as vulgar as suicide. I was merely going to play a game, the kind of game that any sick and crazy old dog would play. And that's what I was now, wasn't it? A sick and crazy old dog.
Willy would disapprove at first, but that was only because I would think that I had gotten there by taking my own life. But I wasn't proposing anything as vulgar as suicide. I was merely going to play a game, the kind of game that any sick and crazy old dog would play. And that's what I was now, wasn't it? A sick and crazy old dog.
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The road was somewhere, and I had to find it.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 11:37 am
Once I began to feel the cold, I became aware of an equally intense heat. Something was burning inside me. The cold was outside, and the heat was inside; my body was covered with snow, and inside my body the fever was back. I took a stab at trying to stand up to shake the snow off my fur. Maybe later, I told myself. I remembered what Willy had told me about going back to Dog Haven. That was good advice, and if my body had been up to the task, I would have followed it. But it wasn't. For want of anything else to do, I ate some snow and tried to remember the dream.
I began to hear the sounds of cars and trucks and I could detect all manner of vehicles rushing down the wet highway, an unbroken parade of big cars and small cars, trucks and vans, long-distance buses. The road was immense, and the road was dazzling: a six-lane superhighway with cars and trucks speeding past in both directions.
I began to hear the sounds of cars and trucks and I could detect all manner of vehicles rushing down the wet highway, an unbroken parade of big cars and small cars, trucks and vans, long-distance buses. The road was immense, and the road was dazzling: a six-lane superhighway with cars and trucks speeding past in both directions.
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The devil Willy had been a trick.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 11:18 am
It was the only way to test the permanence of my affections. Even though I had been scared half to death, I hadn't hesitated to forgive Willy. In this way, without even knowing that I was being judged, I had passed the test. The reward was another dream.
This time we were sitting on the beach in California, a place we had visited on our first trip together, before I was fully grown. The sun was shining brightly, a small breeze was stirring, and I was lying with my head on Willy's lap, savoring the feel of my master's fingertips as they moved back and forth across my skull. It seemed to begin in silence, silence in the sense of no words. Suddenly I was aware of my ability to speak, to form words as clearly and smoothly as any two-leg yapping in his mother tongue.
This time we were sitting on the beach in California, a place we had visited on our first trip together, before I was fully grown. The sun was shining brightly, a small breeze was stirring, and I was lying with my head on Willy's lap, savoring the feel of my master's fingertips as they moved back and forth across my skull. It seemed to begin in silence, silence in the sense of no words. Suddenly I was aware of my ability to speak, to form words as clearly and smoothly as any two-leg yapping in his mother tongue.
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The only thing that mattered was to get where I was going.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:58 am
I was counting on my nose to point me in the right direction. Never mind that the Family was gone and wouldn't lip returning for another two weeks. Never mind that my food was locked up in the garage and I had no way of getting at it. I was only a dog, and I wasn't capable of thinking that far ahead. For now, the only thing that mattered was to get where I was going. Once I did, the rest would take care of itself. Or so I thought. But the sad truth was that I thought wrong. My body wasn't up to the demands I was making on it. I went as far as my legs could carry me, and then, between one step and the next, I sank to the ground and fell asleep.
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"I wish to hell people wouldn't dump their sick dogs on us. All we need is for this one to croak."
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:51 am
I slept through the morning and deep into the afternoon, and when I woke up I sensed that the worst of it was behind me. It wasn't that I was in top form, but at least I was half alive now, and with my temperature down by a couple of degrees, I could move my muscles without feeling that my body was made of bricks.
I was able to work out a plan. And without a plan, I never would have been able to do what I did. It made no difference to me whether I was sick or well, whether I was going to live or going to die. I would only have a few seconds to pull it off, and the whole thing had to be shining in my head before it happened - so I would know exactly what to do and exactly when to do it.
I jumped out of the car. I hit the ground running, and before the woman could grab hold of my tail or step on my leash, I was gone. I heard the woman calling out for me to come back; I was far into the woods by then, and I knew they would never find me.
I was able to work out a plan. And without a plan, I never would have been able to do what I did. It made no difference to me whether I was sick or well, whether I was going to live or going to die. I would only have a few seconds to pull it off, and the whole thing had to be shining in my head before it happened - so I would know exactly what to do and exactly when to do it.
I jumped out of the car. I hit the ground running, and before the woman could grab hold of my tail or step on my leash, I was gone. I heard the woman calling out for me to come back; I was far into the woods by then, and I knew they would never find me.
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In spite of what had happened in the dream last night, I still wanted to live.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:44 am
My stomach had been turned into a battleground of warring microbes. Every time I moved, stirred even an inch or two from where I was lying, another attack would begin. It felt as if depth charges were being detonated inside my bowels, as if poison gases were eating away at my inner organs. A great racket was swirling around me by then, but I was too ill to take notice. The best I could do was lie there in my torpor, contemplating the bollix my body had made of things. I knew that I was sick, but exactly how sick, and exactly where this sickness was taking me, I had no idea. A dog could die from a thing like this, I told himself, but a dog could also recover and be good as new in a couple of days. Given the choice, I would have preferred not to die.
Willy's unprecedented cruelty had stunned me, had made me feel miserable and unspeakably alone, but that didn't mean that I wasn't ready to forgive my master for what he had done. You didn't turn your back on a person for letting you down just once-not after a lifetime of friendship, you didn't, and especially not if there were extenuating circumstances. Willy was dead, and who knew if dead people didn't grow bitter and nasty after they had been dead for awhile? Then again, maybe it hadn't been Willy at all. The man in the dream could have been an impostor, a demon dressed in Willy's form who had been sent from Timbuktu to trick me and turn me against my master. Even if it had been Willy, I was honest enough to admit that his remarks contained a germ of truth. I had spent too much time feeling sorry for myself lately, had frittered away too many precious hours pouting over infinitesimal slights and injustices, and that kind of behavior was unseemly in a dog of my stature. There was much to be thankful for, and much life still to be lived.
Willy's unprecedented cruelty had stunned me, had made me feel miserable and unspeakably alone, but that didn't mean that I wasn't ready to forgive my master for what he had done. You didn't turn your back on a person for letting you down just once-not after a lifetime of friendship, you didn't, and especially not if there were extenuating circumstances. Willy was dead, and who knew if dead people didn't grow bitter and nasty after they had been dead for awhile? Then again, maybe it hadn't been Willy at all. The man in the dream could have been an impostor, a demon dressed in Willy's form who had been sent from Timbuktu to trick me and turn me against my master. Even if it had been Willy, I was honest enough to admit that his remarks contained a germ of truth. I had spent too much time feeling sorry for myself lately, had frittered away too many precious hours pouting over infinitesimal slights and injustices, and that kind of behavior was unseemly in a dog of my stature. There was much to be thankful for, and much life still to be lived.
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"You've turned yourself into a joke, a tired and disgusting joke."
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:34 am
I was dreaming about Willy again, but this dream was nothing like the ones that had come before it. I was given a full taste of my master's wrath. Perhaps it was the fever burning inside me, or perhaps something had happened to Willy in Timbuktu. The man who came to me that night was not the Willy I had known in life and death for the past seven and three quarters years. This was a vengeful and sarcastic Willy, a devil Willy, a Willy bereft of all compassion and kindness. I was so terrified of this person that I lost control of my bladder and peed on myself for the first time since I was a pup.
The false Willy was identical in appearance to the true Willy, he was wearing the same tattered Santa Claus gear that I had seen him in for the past seven Christmases. The dream was set in the present, in the very cage where I was spending the night.
The false Willy was identical in appearance to the true Willy, he was wearing the same tattered Santa Claus gear that I had seen him in for the past seven Christmases. The dream was set in the present, in the very cage where I was spending the night.
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It wasn't that the kennel was such a bad place.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:25 am
Dog Haven was no internment camp for abused and neglected animals. It was a four-star rural retreat, a canine hotel designed to accommodate the needs and whims of the most indulged and demanding pets. There were sixty of sleeping cages. Not only were they cleaned every day, but each one came with a soft, freshly laundered quilt and a chewable rawhide toy - in the shape of a bone, a cat, or a mouse, depending on the owner's preference. But none of that mattered, at least not to me. These new surroundings failed to impress me, to arouse even the slightest show of interest, I had no desire to stay. That didn't prevent the Family from leaving, of course.
Something was seriously wrong with me, and whatever mayhem had been brewing in me lately was about to come to a full boil. My head hurt, and my belly was on fire, and a weakness had invaded my knees that suddenly made standing difficult. They gave me food, but the thought of food made me sick. They offered me a bone to chew on, but I turned my head away. Only water was acceptable, but when they pushed the water in front of me, I stopped drinking after two sips. I was put in a cage between a wheezing ten-year-old bulldog and a luscious golden Lab. Ordinarily, a female of that caliber would have sent me into spasms of lustful sniffing, but that night I barely had the strength to acknowledge her presence before dropping onto my quilt and passing out.
Something was seriously wrong with me, and whatever mayhem had been brewing in me lately was about to come to a full boil. My head hurt, and my belly was on fire, and a weakness had invaded my knees that suddenly made standing difficult. They gave me food, but the thought of food made me sick. They offered me a bone to chew on, but I turned my head away. Only water was acceptable, but when they pushed the water in front of me, I stopped drinking after two sips. I was put in a cage between a wheezing ten-year-old bulldog and a luscious golden Lab. Ordinarily, a female of that caliber would have sent me into spasms of lustful sniffing, but that night I barely had the strength to acknowledge her presence before dropping onto my quilt and passing out.
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Evil spirits were lurking inside me.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:18 am
I felt the first of several painful twinges in my abdomen. Over the next two and a half weeks the pains spread into my haunches, mys limbs, and even into my throat. Evil spirits were lurking inside me. The symptoms were still too vague to produce any outward manifestations (no vomiting, no diarrhea, no seizures as of yet).
I felt less and less like myself. Instead of taking this family vacation business in my stride, I began to sulk and brood about it, to worry it into a thousand component parts. What at first had seemed to be no more than a small bump in the road was turned into a full-scale misfortune.
I felt less and less like myself. Instead of taking this family vacation business in my stride, I began to sulk and brood about it, to worry it into a thousand component parts. What at first had seemed to be no more than a small bump in the road was turned into a full-scale misfortune.
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I overheard the words that told me what family vacation really meant.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 10:11 am
Wherever this family vacation was going to take them, I wasn't going along. Willy had never left me behind. Not once, not under any circumstances, and I wasn't used to this kind of handling. Perhaps I had been spoiled, but in my book there was more to canine happiness than just feeling wanted. You also had to feel necessary.
All right, they were coming back. I was fairly confident of that, but that didn't mean I wouldn't have preferred to go with them. It was a setback, but at the same time I knew it wasn't the end of the world. I had been through worse hardships than this one.
All right, they were coming back. I was fairly confident of that, but that didn't mean I wouldn't have preferred to go with them. It was a setback, but at the same time I knew it wasn't the end of the world. I had been through worse hardships than this one.
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"We're going on a family vacation. Daddy's taking us to Disney World."
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 09:59 am
I knew who this Mickey Mouse character was, and based on the things I'd been told, I wasn't too impressed. Who ever heard of a mouse with a pet dog? It was laughable, really, an insult to good taste and common sense, a perversion of the natural order of things. Any half-wit could have told you that it should be the other way around. Big creatures lorded it over small creatures, and if there was one thing he was certain about in this world, it was that dogs were bigger than mice.
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The concept of the family vacation was entirely unknown to me.
Mar. 15th, 2008 | 09:47 am
The word vacation had nothing to do with families - and nothing to do with the idea of travel. Travel was what I did with Willy, and in all the years we had spent on the road together, I couldn't remember a single instance in which the word vacation had crossed my master's lips. It might have been different if Willy had been gainfully employed somewhere, but except for a few odd jobs picked up along the way, he had always been his own boss. We had lived in a world apart, free of the clock-watching and hour-counting that took up so much of everyone else's time.
The only day of the year that had stood out from the others was Christmas, but Christmas wasn't a vacation, it was a workday. Come December twenty-fifth, no matter how exhausted or hungover Willy might have been, he had always climbed straight into his Santa Claus costume and spent the day walking around the streets, spreading hope and good cheer. It was his way of honoring his spiritual father, he said, of remembering the vows of purity and self-sacrifice he had taken.
The only day of the year that had stood out from the others was Christmas, but Christmas wasn't a vacation, it was a workday. Come December twenty-fifth, no matter how exhausted or hungover Willy might have been, he had always climbed straight into his Santa Claus costume and spent the day walking around the streets, spreading hope and good cheer. It was his way of honoring his spiritual father, he said, of remembering the vows of purity and self-sacrifice he had taken.
I had always found my master's talk about peace and brotherhood a bit too sappy for my taste, but painful as it sometimes was to see their dinner money wind up in the hands of a person who was better off than they were, I knew there was a method to Willy's madness. Good begets good; evil begets evil; and even if the good you give is met by evil, you have no choice but to go on giving better than you get. Otherwise - and these were Willy's exact words - why bother to go on living?
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I settled into the rhythms of the household.
Mar. 14th, 2008 | 07:10 pm
mood: 
satisfied
The family had introduced me to a different world from the one I had known with Willy. Life with my former master had been good, but maybe this was even better. Not a day went by when I didn't experience some sudden revelation about what had been missing from my former life. For the sad truth was that poets didn't drive, and even when they traveled on foot, they didn't always know where they were going. It wasn't just the daily rides in the van, and it wasn't just the regular meals or the absence of ticks and fleas from my coat. It was the overall feeling of splendor and well-being that had engulfed me. I had landed in the America of two-car garages, home-improvement loans, and neo-Renaissance shopping malls.
The fact was that I had no objections. Willy had always attacked these things, railing against them in that comic way of him. But Willy had been on the outside looking in, and he had refused to give any of it a chance. Now that I was on the inside, I wondered where my old master had gone wrong and why he had worked so hard to reject the trappings of the good life. It might not have been perfect in this place, but it had a lot to recommend it. Once I got used to the mechanics of the system, it no longer seemed so important that I was tethered to a wire all day. By the time I had been there for two and a half months, I even stopped caring that my name was Sparky.
The fact was that I had no objections. Willy had always attacked these things, railing against them in that comic way of him. But Willy had been on the outside looking in, and he had refused to give any of it a chance. Now that I was on the inside, I wondered where my old master had gone wrong and why he had worked so hard to reject the trappings of the good life. It might not have been perfect in this place, but it had a lot to recommend it. Once I got used to the mechanics of the system, it no longer seemed so important that I was tethered to a wire all day. By the time I had been there for two and a half months, I even stopped caring that my name was Sparky.
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I knew that something terrible was about to happen to me. And it did.
Mar. 14th, 2008 | 07:03 pm
mood: 
confused
I never knew what hit me. It was only later, when the anesthetic had worn off, that I began to feel the pain that had been inflicted on me, but even then I remained in the dark as to what had caused it. I knew where it was coming from, but that wasn't the same thing as knowing why it was there. I wondered what the hell had happened to me and why I hurt so much. In due time, I explored the damage and discovered what was missing. Because I was a dog (and not a biologist or a professor of anatomy), I still had no idea what had happened to me. Yes, it was true that the sac was empty now and my old familiars were gone, but what exactly did that mean? I had always enjoyed licking that part of me, but aside from the tender globes themselves, everything else in the area seemed to be intact. In my own eyes I was still the prince of love, the lord of the canine Romeos, and I would go on courting the ladies until my last, dying breath. For once, the tragic dimension of my own life eluded me. The only thing that mattered was the physical pain. Once that disappeared, I never gave the operation another thought.
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They had turned me into a prisoner.
Mar. 14th, 2008 | 07:00 pm
mood: 
irritated
It felt like an obscene joke. I was a dog built for companionship, for the give-and-take of life with others. I needed to be touched and spoken to, to be part of a world that included more than just myself. They had turned me into a prisoner. They had chained me to this infernal bouncing wire, this metallic torture device with its incessant squeaks and echoing hums, and every time I moved, the noises moved with me - as if to remind me that I was no longer free, that I had sold my birthright for a mess of porridge and an ugly, ready-made house.
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He's not a person, he's a dog, and dogs don't ask questions. They make do with what they get.
Mar. 14th, 2008 | 06:50 pm
For the time being it had to be understood that the family were only keeping me on a "trial basis," and unless certain conditions were met - the deal was off.
First: under no circumstances was I to be allowed in the house.
Second: I would have to be taken to the vet for a full checkup. If I wasn't found to be in reasonably good health, I would have to go.
Third: at the earliest possible convenience, an appointment would have to be made with a professional groomer. I needed a haircut, a shampoo, and a manicure, as well as a thorough going-over for ticks, lice, and fleas.
Fourth: I would have to be fixed.
First: under no circumstances was I to be allowed in the house.
Second: I would have to be taken to the vet for a full checkup. If I wasn't found to be in reasonably good health, I would have to go.
Third: at the earliest possible convenience, an appointment would have to be made with a professional groomer. I needed a haircut, a shampoo, and a manicure, as well as a thorough going-over for ticks, lice, and fleas.
Fourth: I would have to be fixed.
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"Poor dog. You're awfully sick, aren't you?"
Mar. 14th, 2008 | 06:45 pm
mood: 
embarrassed
Without any further need to charm them or prove what a good soul I was, I was led from the yard into the sanctum of the family house. I ate my fill, gorging myself on leftover slices of roast beef, a bowl of macaroni and cheese, two cans of tuna fish, and three uncooked hot dogs, not to mention lapping up two and a half bowls of water in between courses as well. I had wanted to hold back, to show them that I was a dog of modest appetites, really no trouble to take care of, but once the food was set down in front of me my hunger was simply too overpowering, and I forgot the vow I had made.
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