UNITED STATES—The demonic, neurotic, one in a billion hound takes up the thread of our shaggy-dog tale:
Yes indeed, my master is vexed by many things, including a critter up in the rafters, which has been subsisting on the pulp of 100-year-old crossbeams, and yet he can create an episode of my endless adventures. Indeed, it is true, because of an unfortunate mishap on the wavy cracked surface of the ancient sidewalk that leads to our abode, he saw himself in the mirror the next morning. And was most distressed by the raspberry-colored scales on the right cheekbone, ridge of his noble nose, and the top of his forehead.
It was ugly. It was horrifying, seeing how he was going to appear in a filming the next Monday. All the sorcery under the moon, affirmations, and aloe vera were brought to bear on bringing his features into a semblance that wouldn’t scare any adults or children. My master saw a few friends, went out for coffee, and strived to heal. So it came to pass. Except for a notable bump of desiccated blood on the nose ridge. There was, the day of his thespian activities the lingering fear that he might be turned back.
The surprise in this was that this wound, shouldn’t have been picked off, therefore leaving it open for infection. A person clever in the cosmetic arts observed: as my master was playing the part of a wastrel, the gnarly raspberry bump of dried blood, leant realism.
“You’re a method actor.”
“Wow, I didn’t think of that.”
My master heard the method label and ran with it. Now his concern was that the wound would stay in place for the duration of the shoot. It thankfully did.
Thanksgiving proved to be an enormous crossroads for our flawed hero. He immediately shunned his reliable vices. In fact, the needs to get a draught of water from the fridge as I, Lupe, type this out for him. (Is that a form of animal exploitation. At least I spell better than my master).
The loss of three reliable vices, which served as motivation for a rather heavy workload, these last couple of years, brought days a dread. What kind of holiday would there be to look forward to, without them. Back when there was a home he had to go back to in Watsonville, he could let down his hair and enjoy the fine vintages of California, as many the family story were related by his mom.
Well, aux revoir tobacco, caffeine, and beer and its brethren. Yes, my master has been a bit irritable. Yet, he is adjusting pretty OK, we’ll say. Time will tell. It a world where goals and projects have inordinate weight, there’s something refreshing for my master to boldly take on a new way of living.
Meanwhile, his dog –me– Lupe and here to go vertical and rise up and hug him every morning when he’s trying to do his exercises. As the days go by, he seems to be getting less grumpy about those shows of affection.
To be continued…
