UNITED STATES—Yes, I’ll be the first to admit that I, Luna, get into my fair share of scrapes. But some people sure do miss me, like the fine mistress of the house. She requested a current photo after only a day of travel, as she explores the Big Apple. She had the audacity to say that I look chunky.
I’ll have you know my “master” has it really easy, as he is under no pretension of being able to stir a reaction from me when dangling the leash before my tender gaze. My will to disobey him is unyielding. Meanwhile, my canine roommate Buddy has sought refuge under the coffee table, safely ensconced from me.
The master pro temp had his unfair share of trials this week. There was a that moment of spying me on the mattress in the other room. Then came that split moment, well known to all who love babies and/or furry critters, which is an emblem of deep affection as there ever was: he could see me, a motionless blob. The master was racked by despair. Only, after the passage of three eternal seconds, when he saw some subtle movement of my ribcage was he seized by the relief I was breathing.
“Thank heaven,” he gasped to the cottage cheese ceiling. “You’re breathing!”
I’ll be the first to admit to being a world class prankster, it’s the lab in me. The “master” by gradual degrees, checking all the corners of the house, high and low, under the bed, the blankets, in the bathroom, sunning on the porch, reaching a pitch of panic.
“I’m half crazy,” the “master” said between tears of grief and the mirthless laugh of an arch-villain. Half crazy. Oh, if I only I had the gift of gab, I’d bark:
“You’re about a third right, Mister.”
Then the scariest thing happened. The “master” blurted out after a scowl:
“Oh I was never any good at fractions. Are you trying to belittle me?”
Is it possible, that evolution has singled me out to articulate human thought?
I proceeded to howl, only as I howl, when the mailman passes by. The master began to pound his fists against his own forehead as if it would help his IQ. Now I was howling and Buddy Deville was doing the piercing Chihuahua bark and refuged under the coffee table. Smart dog, old Buddy. He knows that there, under the grid of walnut slats, he’ll be protect from an onslaught, should I revert to the baser instincts of my breed, ever in a tug-of-war with my loving heart.
So sayeth Luna.
To be continued…
