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Pauper, eating his Steak! 11-18-2014
The dog, I have
nicknamed, Pauper, whom is a stray dog in the neighborhood: a half-pint size
German Shepard Mutt!
My wife and I, more
wife than I, have grown to care for him,
Perhaps even grown to
love him in a mutt kind of way!
My wife has taken him
on one occasion to the veterinarians because of wounded foot, thereafter for a
shampoo, —save, he needed it long before he got it: No longer smelling like a
mutt, rather more like Lysol.
And thereafter again,
given the mutt those expensive shots…hopefully, cleaning out his system of any
disease, and so forth…
We tried to restore
him to civilization, bring him into our home and treating him near like an
equal, but he cried and whimpered…
Can you picture a
German Police Mutt, crying and whimpering?
It’s hard being a
Vietnam Veteran watching that, so I set him free to go back and roam his old
turf.
Well, what can one
say—to each his own, even a dog has the right to choose—so I feel—his destiny!
Anyhow, the essence
of this poem is this:
We’ve fed him per
near daily, for more than a few months now,
A few times a day!
Hamburger for lunch,
and a steak for dinner, water for his thirst, and some hard-bread-crackers,
mixing the dog food with hamburger sometimes…
Had I not mixed it
with the hamburger, he’d not have eaten dog food, he’s highbrow, believe it or
not—
Yes, even a mutt, a
stiff-nicked mutt, can be costly, and this Peruvian Mutt, is high
maintenance…
“I will not eat
anything else at your house, without protein in it!” his eyes have told me,
time and again, and my wife seems to identify with him; or is it with me and
him?
As if he is on a
kosher diet.
But he does put on
quite the show, and watching him eat is a treat!
He approaches so
dandy like: cool as a ripe and chilled cucumber.
Wiggling that long
mutt tail, not tramp style, but kingly, as if somewhere along the line, he was descended
from King Arthur’s court (as they
say: elitist).
I call him, the
roustabout, he has three neighborhoods he searches out I do believe;
And that look on his
face says: if you don’t serve me, I got
plan B, and C, already in place (sounds
like my son-in-law!)
Anyhow, suddenly the
dog sees the steak in my hand, for him surely the choicest slab of protein in
the neighborhood—
In all three
neighborhoods!
With a swift dart of
his perturbing—dog face, and strong four-year old saber teeth, he dives at the
steak, grabs hold of the steak, clutching it, as if it might grow legs and run
away;
I have to watch my
fingers and his teeth closely, lest I lose them:
My reflexes are not
as good as they used to be, nor my eyesight!
The steak, now in his
mouth, his head raised, ere, before he devours it:
Exultantly he throws
the stack every-which-way but loose,
As if to tenderize it
before the big moment!
Then snap, it is in
two pieces, one hanging out of his mouth, the other on the floor, of our den—
This is not the end!
He gives no more
attention to my wife and I, he is in a LSD, kind of zone … happy as three
cockroaches, on top of a hill of sugar!
He chews madly, as if
someone might come along and take it away; there is a bigger dog next door, who
likes steaks also…
My steaks that I give
to Pauper that is the main reason he comes into our den, to eat the steak in
secret, lest he lose it to Moro— the beast!
And until the first
of the halves disappears down his long slippery throat, he is not content—
Eaten with such
relish and determination, he now goes for the second portion, a little less
hurried: yet a little worried
Crack-head, the
Priest’s dog, across the street might appear,
He likes Pauper’s
hamburger:
I’ve nicknamed the
Priest’s dog Crack-Head, because he keeps falling off the Preacher’s rooftop,
and he’s bitter, and I have learned from experience, to only refer to him as Crack-head
when he’s not looking...
He can read my lips,
and brother when I call him that name, he gives me the: I’ll eat you look!
He too, is similar to
Moro the Beast!
Does Pauper, have a
concept of what he is eating (surely
not what it costs)?
He does!
How do I know?
He continues in his
way in the matter of establishing long term contact with this house, especially
marinating my wife with his droopy sad eyes, knowing I’m perhaps a war veteran,
he is cautious with his peas and cues…
Once he is full, he
tramps off to Cockroach Villa, wherever that is!
But since that last shampoo
he got, he has returned to smelling like the old Mutt of the neighborhood once
again
And every time I feed
him, I got to take a shower thereafter!
I told my wife this
is getting to be too time consuming!
If not costly, for a
dog that won’t even watch the perimeter of our house, or for that matter, keep
us company at night!
Written 11-18-2014 (No: 4609)
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