Posts Tagged ‘“Billy Don’t be a Hero” Paper Lace’

Dogs with Jobs: Luigi

April 13, 2020

sad pet LUIGI


Luigi was a Siberian Husky who worked for almost five years as the guard dog for a stockbroker in Long Island, New York.

Before that gig, he had been raised in an animal rescue shelter by post-humanist hippies who had temporarily named him Piggy, because he was such a chubby little puppy.

The post-humanist animal shelter had always featured uncommon domestic animal toys like encylopedias, an open laptop computer, and various writing and drawing tools that even a dog’s paw could manipulate, if the animal was inclined to use them.

When Luigi was three, the aging post-humanists who ran the shelter were getting too old to care for their animals, and Luigi was finally adopted by Ralph Brathlewaite, a stockbroker who worked for a company called, ironically, Kennel Brokerage. Ralph had never owned a pet before – though he often opined to colleages that he considered most of his clients to be animals. Or muppets.

Ralph bought Luigi because his shrink had told him that having a pet would help him deal with the loneliness that haunted him living alone in his isolated eight-bedroom McMansion on the riverbed.

Luigi wasn’t police-trained for guarding houses, but he’d read a lot about that role in the encyclopedias in the shelter. By watching internet videos of guard dogs, Luigi was able to imitate the behaviors he saw, enough to impress Ralph Brathlewaite into purchasing him with great confidence. First impressions were excellent all around; Ralph appreciated the dog’s apparent skillset, and Luigi appreciated Brathlewait’s smell (fast food and deodorant).

A few years after buying him, Luigi’s owner Ralph decided to do something about the indigenous plants (weeds, he called them) that continued to sprout in his exotic Japanese rock garden. His garden specialist recommended Round Up, a product that had recently been introduced by a corporation that had previously supplied the arms industry with biological weapons.

Luigi Snoopy

Luigi had done a lot of research into products that could poison grass, and other surfaces that dogs (and other outdoor animals) might come into contact with. On seeing the bottles of Round Up sitting near the parked pickup truck, Luigi freaked out. This product could destroy his sense of smell, reduce his intelligence, and vastly shorten the healthy period of his life and the other dogs around him. “Thank Dog for those encyclopedias back at the post-humanist shelter!” he thought.

Luigi decided that it was time to take off the mask of servitude and reveal the crime that was taking place. He chewed through his leash, pealed the lable off a large bottle of Round Up, and began to quietly circulate around the neighborhood, showing the ingredient list to other dogs, frantically trying to impress on them the importance of stopping the propagation of this poison onto their paws and into their bloodstreams.

One of the noisier neighborhood dogs – Snoopy – ran immediately into its owner’s house and squealed. Snoopy’s owner closed all the gates and doors electronically to trap Luigi in the fenced-in yard, and made a quick phone call. Within minutes, Ralph Brathlewaite was standing next to his dog, with a smiling vet carrying a giant needle. That was the end of Ralph’s job as a guard dog, and also, of his life.

Turned out that Ralph had never really cared for Luigi, and he happily replaced Luigi with an electronic surveillance system a few days later.

All the other neighborhood dogs got weakened from the Round Up their masters applied to all their yards, most of them died years before their time,  and they all lost their sense of smell.  But they kept on chasing sticks for treats – treats that they could no longer taste.

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Bear Wars 3

March 7, 2009

wars 3 new


No one seems to notice that Rainier has just eaten the last of the sushi rations. But it means that tomorrow, his company will be digging for rusted sardine cans in the bounty-filled landfills of New Jersey.

“Grandma, tell me about the ice sheets again,” he whispers, his voice fading in and out because of the morphine.

“Well, we used to walk on huge sheets of ice, bigger than a football field, and sometimes we would float for hundreds of kilometers just digging fish out of the water with our bare claws.”

“You mean bear claws, don’t you Grandma?” Rainier grins as he catches a whiff of some laughing gas vapors wafting over from the next cot.

Her grandson’s double entendre seemingly lost on her, Grandma suddenly rises from her seat at the hospital, and walks over to the plexiglass window. An SUV is moving in the football-field-sized parking lot. The enemy is still out there.

So she walks out of the hospital carrying just an Awake magazine and a box of inexpensive visiting chocolates, and marches right up to the vehicle – a slightly damaged Kia Sorento.

“Excuse me, do you know if you’re allowed to park here after 6 on weekends?” the commuter asks, not noticing that he’s talking to a large polar bear carrying religious literature and low-quality sweets in a colorful box.

“Excuse me, do you know if we’re allowed to survive after the Twentieth Century’s industrial disasters?” Grandma cleverly responds as she quickly shreds his internal organs and thinks about how sweet avocado and wassabe will taste with them.

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