I Love Luna (42)

UNITED STATES—In which we consider the badventures of DeVille…

The “master” proposed to take me out for a walk, at the pivotal moment, after he had already taken a few initial steps out of the house and into a day by turns blustery and sunny. The master was seized by the mildly altruistic of getting me off the couch and airing me out. Me: little Baby Deville, snuggled under the San Marcos blanket that weighs like the leaden bib’s dentists place over their victims when taking X-rays.

Luna had already been taken out of the house by the master’s master, that is, his daughter, sole person on the planet to whom the pit bull lab is obedient. That was a relief, as Luna has been sparring with me. And the master is troubled to hear that death screech I make when Luna’s jaw gets around the scruff of my neck. Yes, the red leash with the silver. clasp was dangled, and out I borrowed from the heavy folds of the San Marcos blanket and happily submitted to getting fastened to it.

Now there was one thing the master sought to avoid, and it was going the usual route from Fountain to Vine, and past the cafe where the master often enjoys an espresso. And I, DeVille enjoy a meaty treat. The master, on the other hand, was intent on smoking a stogie. That prop of Borscht Belt comedians of yore, as is well known to those conversant with local regulations, is banned indoors. And prohibited within 20 feet of any open window or door of any public caffeine dispensary.

Meanwhile, there was no way to dissuade DeVille from going there to get the treat he always got. A risky business all around. If the master tugged any harder, to keep me away from the bacon, pastrami or turkey ham, I had a mind to detach from the leash, so dogged was I in pursuit of my treat.

Quick on his feet, the master ditched his cigar stub on the curb. And asked the kind proprietors if he could leave DeVille tied to the leg of an outside table.

“Can I park him there.”

The proprietors acquiesced. The master jogged around the block to get the spiral notebook, blue the color of healing. All fears of Deville getting loose were banished, along with considerations that DeVille might whimper and wine.

Meanwhile he would trot back home to get a spiral notebook and make the cafe visit a happy one for all parties involved.

When master got back, a bit winded, DeVille was there under the chair. He had gotten his treat, and was lounging in that secret safe place, above which the master placed his butt and let the magic flow from #2 lead.

To be continued…