Bo Go Home

Well I'm not dead.

Dog came by yesterday. He's got a southern name, a 1969-Dixie-Flag-Adorned-Orange-Dodge-Charger-kind-of-name: Bo. As in, "Don't look now Bo, but look." and "Why, Daisy if you wasn't my cousin, I'd marry you." A hog-tie, rumble-tumble rough-fider kind of name.

Last time, Bo left me alone while I was under the bed. So this time, I stayed there until he went for a walk with the humans. But one nap later, he was back with a fury, running through my apartment with abandon. Before I could escape, the humans scooped me up and gave me to Bo for dog food.

Dog, it was awful. He sniffed all around me.... Stay perfectly still. Wait for it to pass. It will pass. That's all I kept telling myself. Dog does not exist. Dog does not exist. Dog does not exist.

Then I hissed. Couldn't help myself. I hissed and he pounced. Barked a terrible awful bark. Worse than his bite? I don't know. I tried not to stick around, but as I said: psycho humans had me trapped. They went crazy grabbing Bo's collar. My eyes were bright, and one would think I was taking everything in, but in fact, I could see almost nothing. I heard shouts of No and suddenly everything went slo-mo:

A n i n c h a w a y f r o m m y n e c k I f e l t t h e f o u l b r e a t h o f D o g a s h e l o o k e d d o w n o n m e w i t h j u d g e m e n t: Mealtime.

The next few minutes are a blur of near-death experiences. Have you ever watched X-Files? Think that, times one fifth.

You can say what you want about me. But I learn quickly. If I so much as move, if I so much as hiss, if I do anything, if I exercise ANY free will... dog pounces. Dog doesn't like free will. When I gave up, once I let go... things got a little bit calm. Bo sat there with a tilted head, and seemed to get bored.