As I awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, I found myself transformed in my bed into a small dog.
I recognized myself for what I had become, mainly because I was vigorously chewing on a hairy paw, its claws like talons scratching the surface of my maxilla. I tried to speak, but nothing would emanate from my vocal cords besides a few barks ranging from guttural rumbles to shrill cries—any of which was meant to tell anyone within earshot that I was communicating an entire gamut of feelings or desires. Usually, my pleas are for food. Sometimes it just feels good.
Here I was then, a sentient being with an incurable desire to mark any territory as my own by baptizing said areas and objects with my distinctively malodorous urine. Why they say it’s a dog’s life leaves me bewildered. After only a few minutes I had determined that I would have been happier as the man I was before I opened my eyes to the morning’s light.
But that wasn’t to be. And how long before I would return—if ever—to that being was the unknown. Along with that uncertainty came what I can only figure to be canine angst about whatever it was I was to do in my new incarnation.
At first, I supposed, was to leave the warm comfort of my bed and explore familiar surroundings from nine inches above the floor.
I knew I had to tend to my toilette and beg for food with one of my new sounds. But first, fewer than ten minutes as my new self, I felt the need for a nap. As time would pass by, I seemed to need frequent naps in numerous places.
My human—the former me—knows little about me. He knows that I was put up for adoption after my first human died. There were two of us dogs in our little family, but the survivors chose to keep my brother and sentenced me to a cage in a shelter for abandoned dogs. That situation left me with severe separation anxiety.
I met my second human because he thought I would make a good companion for a blind dog that lived in his house. His wife thought he needed a dog of his own because the blind dog chose only to bark incessantly at him.
If you’ll excuse me, I need to nap.
Okay, then. I like the little blind dog because I get to torture him by hiding his toys and leading him on mad dashes that make him run into walls and the chair legs in the dining room. He gets salmon and lima beans to eat; I get turkey and sweet potatoes. They both come in kibble form and we get the same thing three times a day. (Boring…) I just finished breakfast, so it’s clearly time for a nap.
There are two other dogs besides me and the blind guy. I don’t particularly care for either of them. They are both large and, for their size, rather meek. One of them is part dingo and I suspect the other part is hyena. She screams like a banshee. The other one holds his head sideways as if he’d suffered a neck injury. They both have funny names.
Nap time.
All of us are fixed, though it’s possible that none of us were ever broken. At birth I identified as male. Now I identify as a eunuch. For the one year I could—fifteen for me, about the same age as my namesake—I never had a chance to demonstrate my maleness. Oh well. All of this talking is making me sleepy.
There is a large cat living here too. I hate him.
Normally, I don’t get too excited about things although I don’t like it when people come onto the porch. I love to dance and I’m good at it, my nails making tapping sounds on the linoleum much like Gregory Hines. My human seems to enjoy my dancing—at mealtimes, or when we go for a walk or a drive in the car. I’ve recently added a snort to go with the dancing. The snorting makes him laugh.
Guess what? I need a nap. This time it will be under the table my human sits at for most of the day while he reads and surfs the internet.
There is a television in our room that is on to some channel where people talk about politics and gun deaths. It makes me sad that children have to die. I pay little attention to the television, unless I hear barking, in which case I’ll bark along. I also pay little attention to politics, though I imagine I would be considered a leftist.
I saw myself in a mirror once. It confused me because I didn’t know who it was that seemed to do everything I did. After all, I had no idea what I looked like until then. My human always says that I’m a pretty boy. Several times a day he asks, “Who’s a good boy?” That’s my cue to roll over onto my back so he can rub my belly. Then I fall asleep.
I wonder if I’m wasting my life by sleeping so much. Then I wonder what I would do if I stayed awake for a long time.
I can’t think of anything productive that I could do.
After all, I’m just a dog living a dog’s life. It’s time to sleep.
Photo illustration by Courtney A. Liska
Clams Oreganati
Yet another delicious way to enjoy linguine with clams.
A dozen fresh clams
1 Tbs. shallots
1 Tbs. garlic
red pepper flakes
extra virgin olive oil
splash of white wine
fresh basil
1 tsp. oregano, dried
zest of one lemon
lemon juice
parsley for garnish
6 oz. cooked linguine
Sweat shallots and garlic in oil. Add clams and white wine. After the clams have opened, add basil, oregano, zest and lemon juice. Toss. Spoon over linguine and garnish with parsley & lemon wedges. Enjoy!