UNITED STATES—My master has been suffering of late from dislocated chronology syndrome. The day that felt rather Tuesday-like in its contours, was really Wednesday. And Wednesday is the day he must receive dictation from me, Luna the adorable pit-bull lab, to continue the ongoing adventures of Luna. And he had been rubbing his hands together all week because, as usual, I had provided him with sensational new material.
Like they say in the muckraking biz: if it bleeds, it leads…
In my exuberance this week, I Luna, extended one of my long spindly legs toward the couch on which the master was sleep. The sharp point of one of my pawnails lodged into the too-soft flesh of my master. Not only was he awakened rudely, but his fingertips detected the scarlet flow of a warm liquid on his forearm. His fear that I may turn on my canine companion, the Chihuahua terrier DeVille, has yet to be translated into reality. Yet, one of the master’s own fears, a distant second to his concern for the cheerful DeVille’s well-being, namely that his blood may be shed has come to pass.
He has the napkin, used to stanch the blood, a souvenir of the shocking interruption of slumber. This lamentable occurrence has stoked in him the fear below all fears: the master, to whom I am loyal but not obedient, and who still deserves to be bracketed in quotation marks–this “master” will not know the true sorrow I feel for jabbing him with my nail. I have a heart, you know, the big boundless heart of a dog. I too, am riddled by guilt for the mishap, and adding to his to-do list one more item: get Luna’s nails trimmed.
Add that to “buy new socks” and “move the car at 11:00 am” when his two hours will be up. Boy, this dog is happy about one thing: I don’t have to worry about parking in Tinseltown. The “master”–yes.
The dog’s life is really not so bad. The Chihuahua and I have chatted about it. The master, on the other hand, is just about to rush out the door to morning coffee. Then that twinge of conscience strikes, and he must stop misstep to respond to we dogs’ necessities: fill the water bowls and dish out the kibble and a dollop of wet food. That must be done before he can leap into the dawn in good conscience and toward that crosswords where the morning comics intersect with caffeine.
In conclusion, I am going to impose my choice upon the “master” this morning and insist he choose a picture of loveable me, rather that the image of the crumpled white napkin spattered with his blood. Who is master here and who is servant, you may be asking. I leave that to you to ponder. Ruff ruff…!
To be continued…
