Pauper, eating his Steak! 11-18-2014
The dog, I have nicknamed Pauper, whom is a
stray dog in the neighborhood: a half-pint size German Shepard Mutt! My wife and I, more wife than I, have grown to
care for him, perhaps even grown to love him in a mutt kind of way! My wife has
taken him on one occasion to the veterinarians because of a wounded foot,
thereafter for a shampoo, —save, he needed it long before he got it: no longer
smelling like a mutt, rather more like Lysol. And thereafter again, given the
mutt those expensive shots…hopefully, cleaning out his system of any disease,
and so forth… We tried to restore him to civilization, bring him into our home
and treating him near like an equal, but he cried and whimpered… Can you picture
a German Police Mutt, crying and whimpering? It’s hard being a Vietnam Veteran
watching that, so I set him free to go back and roam his old turf. Well, what
can one say—to each his own, even a dog has the right to choose—so I feel—his
destiny! Anyhow, the essence of this story is this: we’ve fed him per near
daily, for more than a few months now, a few times a day! Hamburger for lunch,
and a steak for dinner, water for his thirst, and some hard-bread-crackers,
mixing the dog food with hamburger sometimes… Had I not mixed it with the
hamburger, he’d not have eaten the dog food, he’s highbrow, believe it or not— yes,
even a mutt, a stiff-nicked mutt, can be costly, and this Peruvian Mutt, is
high maintenance… “I
will not eat anything else at your house, without protein in it!” his eyes have told me, time and again,
and my wife seems to identify with him; or is it with me and him? As if he is
on a kosher diet. But he does put on
quite the show, and watching him eat is a treat! He approaches so dandy like:
cool as a ripe and chilled cucumber. Wiggling that long mutt tail, not tramp
style, but kingly, as if somewhere along the line, he was descended from King
Arthur’s court (as
they say: elitist). I
call him, the roustabout, he has three neighborhoods he searches out I do
believe; and that look on his face says:
if you don’t serve me, I got plan B, and C, already in place (sounds like my son-in-law!) Anyhow, suddenly the dog sees the steak
in my hand, for him surely the choicest slab of protein in the neighborhood— in
all three neighborhoods! With a swift dart of his perturbing—dog face, and
strong four-year old saber teeth, he dives at the steak, grabs hold of the
steak, clutching it, as if it might grow legs and run away; I have to watch my
fingers and his teeth closely, lest I lose them. My reflexes are not as good as
they used to be, nor my eyesight! The
steak, now in his mouth, his head raised, ere, before he devours it: exultantly
he throws the stack every-which-way but loose—like an alligator—as if to tenderize it before the big moment! Then
snap, it is in two pieces, one hanging out of his mouth, the other on the
floor, of our den— this is not the end! He gives no more attention to my wife
and I, he is in a LSD, kind of zone … happy as three cockroaches, on top of a
hill of sugar! He chews madly, as if someone might come along and take it away;
there is a bigger dog next door, called Moro, who likes steaks also… My steaks
that I give to Pauper that is the main reason he comes into our den, to eat the
steak in secret, lest he lose it to Moro— the beast! And until the first of the
halves disappears down his long slippery throat, he is not content— Eaten with
such relish and determination, he now goes for the second portion, a little
less hurried, yet a little worried. Crack-head, the Priest’s dog across the
street might appear, he likes Pauper’s hamburger, I’ve nicknamed the Priest’s
dog Crack-Head, because he keeps falling off the Preacher’s rooftop, and he’s
bitter, and I have learned from experience, to only refer to him as Crack-head
when he’s not looking... He can read my lips, and brother when I call him that
name, he gives me the: I’ll eat you look! He too, is similar to Moro the Beast!
Does Pauper, have a concept of what he is eating (surely not what it costs)? He does! How do I know? He continues in
his way in the matter of establishing long term contact with this house,
especially marinating my wife with his droopy sad eyes, knowing I’m perhaps a
war veteran, he is cautious with his peas and cues… Once he is full, he tramps
off to Cockroach Villa, wherever that is! But since that last shampoo he got,
he has returned to smelling like the old Mutt of the neighborhood once again and
every time I feed him, I got to take a shower thereafter! I told my wife this
is getting to be too time consuming! If not costly, for a dog that won’t even
watch the perimeter of our house, or for that matter, keep us company at night!
Written 11-18-2014 (No: 4609) Reedited 11-2016
