Hannibal Lechter yellow
lab --Cage on
his face --SEEING HIM,
I FEEL SO BAAAD!
My day starts well. I feel so special, so sexy, pushing the penthouse
button. Everyone
else has a number, but my floor is PH. I'm feeling good until, on floor
38,
he gets on. He is sad, his honey-colored eyes show it
clearly. There is a metal
cage over his snout, fastened with leather buckles, like something
from
an old Sci-fi movie, or an S&M device of today.
This is the world's one and only violent labrador?
I think this, and he blinks blankly, hopelessly. No tail wagging. His
still tail speaks volumes. Instead of speaking to his owner (who is
busy messaging with her
phone) I tell said dog, (in special dog baby-talk) "You don't look
like a snapper. Did you snap at some buddy?" The woman stops tapping
keys.
She asserts defensively, " I can't make him stop eating trash."
He blinks at me, hopeless desperation in his eyes. He is resolved to
this fate. This contraption, a giant full-face cage, is his ticket
to Outside.
She goes on texting. I think, "smells are the joy of dogs. Dogs will
eat a
McDonalds cheeseburger wrapper in total delight. These are the
simple joys of Being A Dog. They need to smell other dogs to figure
out who is a boy or a girl!"
His eyes plead with me to steal him.
While his perfectly still tail walks out of the elevator in front of
me, I hatch a plan to rappel off my balcony 3 floors to steal him.
I
will swoop in & walk out his front door with him. I will take him
to
New Mexico, the land of happy dogs. He will spend whole days dumping
trash cans and enjoying scents. His tail will wag until he is old,
fat
& decrepit.
I call to her: "You know, you might try giving him real meat instead
of kibble. If
dogs were meant to eat corn and soy, God would have given them
opposable thumbs." I smile. She pretends not to hear me.
Sigh. There goes the fun of living in a penthouse. I can never again
pass the 38th floor again without wanting to weep.
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