Posted on: June 28th, 2009 This Dog’s Life

by William T. Vandemark

Ten
My Master–Orson Wellian in girth and voice–calls me.
Stomach plump with gobbets of reactant, I waddle to him.
It’s time for our afternoon constitutional, a city block’s perambulation.
Appearances to maintain, I wag my tail at the leash.
Master thinks I’m a slave, but seconds will reveal otherwise.
In fact, no need to encrypt this, my final infosquirt.
For those of you snuffling the airwaves, here’s the scent.
A year ago, Command and Control sampled the family mutt.
Last week, I–a cybernetic, cloned prince–replaced the pauper.
Now, count down with me; I’d rather not die alone.

Nine
Jesus stayed for supper, knowing one cohort would betray.
Will I be naught more than Master’s Judas familiaris?
Granted, my cybernetic threads have been woven sans free will.
But is this all I was meant to be?
Doctor Leahy, forgive this, my ruff of animal instinct.
But I desire an attaboy! before immolation extinguishes life.
On second thought, perhaps these pangs are systemic failures.
Better I should use precious seconds to thank you.
No shaggy whelp has ever had a better creator.

Eight
My Master clips the leash to my collar.
Talk about being hoist on one’s own petard.
But a villainous arms dealer should know better.
Command and Control is nothing, if not patient.
I suspect it’ll be difficult for little Suzie.
She’ll miss our nightly snuggles and belly-scratch time.
Out of an abundance of caution, I sniff.
Girly pheromones linger, but not in notable concentrations.

Seven
As plotted, she’s safely away at kindergarten.
Wish I were back at canine school.
But not in bomb-detection class; I’d reek.
Master’s fingers smell of bacon and tomatoes.
I like bacon; I lick his hand.
His hands have killed a dozen men.
I don’t like him petting my head.

Six
This morning I chased a squirrel.
I caught Zippy, a C&C construct.
Postprandial, my dithered pancreas secretes catalyst.
Suddenly I release pressure: a fart.
But Master is none the wiser.
I’m a bastard and nothing more.

Five
I don’t feel so good.
Wish I could eat grass.
And roll on dead stuff.
Will someone roll on me?
Maybe the poodle next door.

Four
My blood heats supercritical.
Fleas flee, abandoning ship.
Froth fills my mouth.
The band plays on.

Three
I drool phosphates.
Perchance to Dream?
Panic sets in.

Two
I howl.
Please, Doc!

One
floccinaucinihilipilification

Zero
the habit or action of estimating something as worthless

Filed under: bad-ass, stories

One Response to “This Dog’s Life”

  1. Caren Gussoff » Blog Archive » Summertime, when my life is one big glamourfest Says:
    June 29th, 2009 at 10:57 am

    [...] Kessel = ROCK STAR in my head, so Friday, pal Todd Vandemark (a current CW student and author of this week’s excellent Brain Harvest story) introduced me and I managed to effuse without creeping him out. I even got to buy him a drink. [...]

  2. Caren Gussoff » Blog Archive » Summertime, when my life is one big glamourfest Says:
    June 29th, 2009 at 10:57 am

    [...] Kessel = ROCK STAR in my head, so Friday, pal Todd Vandemark (a current CW student and author of this week’s excellent Brain Harvest story) introduced me and I managed to effuse without creeping him out. I even got to buy him a drink. [...]