UNITED STATES—Yes, the master with his Jupiter-sized ego, according to my confidante and canine sparring partner, Baby DeVille, was out walking the Chihuahua-Terrier, and stopped mid-step when someone sped past and shouted out the open car-window: “Maestro.” He instantly thought he was being mistaken for Leonard Bernstein or Gustavo Dudamel.
Silly goose! It was one of his language students, maestro means teacher in Spanish. DeVille conveyed a bit snakily, and added with a pedantic flourish that rabbi also means teacher. This reminds me of the off-brand peanut butter that the master got for us at the supermarket on the weekend. The price was right, $2.99, what’s not to like? The master is very big on the fact that peanuts are one nut humans and canines can share. Furthermore, this store-brand peanut butter bore the kosher symbol which means the dogs can have it all: peanut butter and pieces of chicken, or the canned stuff which purports to have beef.
Unforeseen by the master, this off-brand peanut butter contained a lot of hydrogenated nonsense and other additives, in addition to plenty of fat. These are the likely cause of an expansion of dilution of my evacuations, which are nothing if not prolific. There were the results, on and around the steppingstones. It was rather like bagging up caramel ice cream, melting in the sun. The trick was not getting smudges on the master’s fingers.
He was fuming. Then there was the final mandated step, tie the bloody thing! He was angry and mad at us dogs and hurled it in the bin. There was still a gooey brown residue left behind on one concrete steppingstone.
The “master,” I’ll grant him this, he can improvise like a jazz master when it comes to these dilemmas. Today the bougainvillea, whose thorns in the past have contributed to much bloodletting, found a new use. The master scooped up a mound of dry, brittle bougainvillea petals and heaped them on the remaining Lupe residue, then added some twigs and dirt. At last, he ground it down enough so there was reduced peril. No, he was not going to splash water. As a Zen master has said, “Enough’s enough.”
Sometimes I worry about the master and his tribulations. Life isn’t a hammock ride. It can’t all be picking up DeVille’s compact little pellets. Sometimes it’s gonna be loose and nasty. Perhaps one day the master will thank me for providing the perpetually evolving battle fatigue, which will culminate in satori.
To be continued…
