UNITED STATES—Now, since there’ve been a shenanigan or two, I am going by a new name under a canine-witness program. Alias Luna, it’s close enough to my birth name, Luna is. It’s still me. To the everlasting psychosis of my human “master,” I am developing magical powers. For instance, the ability to project a shadow flash of myself bounding down the steps to create the illusion of passing wind. Master feels the whoosh! He flinches. Every nerve in my alleged master’s body goes taut to snapping point.
There’ve been no dearth of white-knuckle incidents of derring-do that bear my paw prints. Escapes, catching my doggie companion’s neck between by steely jaws. So it was a Friday. My master agreed to do a small favor of receiving a bottle of wine for his neighbors who might be in the Dolomite Mountains or Oaxaca or Easter Island. Immediately my master started getting texts from the deliverer.
“Turning the corner.”
“Landing the helicopter.”
“Be there in five”
He immediately got to his feet. Besides being quite addicted to the gentle high of a good deed accomplished, just the thought of the wine coming and meeting the messenger of Bacchus was so alluring. Houdiniesque dog that I am pulled a fast one and as my master opened the gate I took advantage of my master’s distraction and made a record-breaking Olympic dash and ran out onto the walkway to hug the deliverer.
My master was overwhelmed–one moment in happy anticipation of the good deed to be carried out… The next totally devastated to witness the Door Dash emissary have have the living daylights scared out of him by me, Luna, beloved member pet.
“Luna… Luna…” my master stammered. He grabbed for a chain around my neck that wasn’t there.
He was helpless as my fur escaped his grip. To witness the ghastly sight of another human under siege by Luna was something you would like to rinse from your eyes.
“Luna… COME,” he said and gestured. I actually obeyed and went back inside the gate, which the master has learned to close with great alacrity.
Still, the terrifying episode left the deliverer shaken. He got his wife on the phone. She was going to take him to the hospital when he got home. In the days that followed, my master was severely tested and a good candidate for a mental hospital.
Through cluttered rooms he shouted, fist in air, Lupe, L-U-P-E, LUUUUUUUPE !!!
“Don’t call me Lupe, I’m Luna,” I reminded him.
