5/15/2007

PUPPY RESCUE / SEA VAMPIRES


I rescued a puppy!

You should have seen me, Blue Space, I was a godmamn hero.

REALLY.

Yes sir. I bet I put your Red Crescent adventures to shame.

PLEASE ELABORATE.

Don't use sarcasm with me right now, Blue Space, I'm about to tell you about an evening that refreshed my spirit and restored my zest for living. Don't bring your "a'ittude" into this.

I AM ALL EARS, ISAAC.

Stop it, stop your relentless sarcasm. I want good vibes in the air. Good vibes, not those cheesy vibes they use in smooth jazz and elevator music. And Baby Mozart.

NO SARCASM, ISAAC. TRULY, IF I HAD EARS, I WOULD BE ALL THEM. THIS IS THE TRUTH. THIS IS MY HEART. THIS IS MY WORD TO YOU.

Ok. That's actually a little much, but thanks. Ok, so to understand this story we need to back up a little and establish that I have had a horrible series of weeks, possibly even years. Due to cancellations like the one mentioned above, my work hours have been temporarily but vastly reduced, leaving me with unexpected amounts of free time. Not prepared to exploit this free time and frustrated by a sudden lack of purpose, (and money) I spent my days lounging about in my apartment, walking in circles, staring at walls. Doing nothing, basically. And this is just the latest expression of a long-standing malaise, a cancerous mass of emotional scars and cynicism that has been gradually converting me from the wild-eyed, journal-keeping, letter-writing, Mod Poging, music-loving, girl-pining artsy fartsy mental case of my youth to a dead-eyed, dull-dayed, tax doing, rent paying, world-hating, washed out, washed up old husk.

WOW. SO, I WAS NOT ACTUALLY LISTENING BEFORE. BUT NOW I AM.

Oh are you?

WITH ALL MY EARS.

Talk of suffering gets your attention does it? Like blood in the water for man-eating sharks or vampires?

DO VAMPIRES LIVE IN WATER?

Sea-Vampires do, obviously.

I DON'T KNOW THAT I'VE EVER HEARD OF SEA-VAMPIRES, ISAAC.

Uh, who do you think keeps the Pirate population levels under
control, Blue Space? The Coast Guard? Yeah right. They're not equipped for culling herds. Most of them aren't even college graduates. If it wasn't for Sea-Vampires the oceans would be so teeming with Pirates that they would consume all their food sources and probably be extinct within a decade. Is that what you want?

NO.

Of course it's not what you want. Can I continue my story?

CONTINUE.

Ok, so, there I am living through yet another painfully protracted week of frustration and repetition, holed up in my apartment like the guy in Oldboy, and once again I get a call telling me my evening appointment is canceling. Having been recently discussing my descent into mediocrity with my train-hopping, Kerouac-reading, bohemian friend, Nichole, and being urged by her to break the "normalcy" of my life, I decide to alter my routine and go to Discovery park.

CONTINUE.

I am continuing, Blue Space, you didn't need to say continue, I would have just continued anyway.

SORRY. CONTINUE.

I am. So, it's sundown at Discovery park, and I'm walking through this vast natural world just 10 minutes from Downtown, a wide open plain, then a forest with winding trails, then a beach with a lighthouse. I stroll through all this, pretty much the only person in the whole park, as it's positively freezing out. The sun goes down, it gets dark, and I head back to the car. On the way, I start to hear this dog barking way off in the distance. It's not a casual dog bark, it's mournful and desperate, repeating over and over again. Something is clearly wrong. I follow the sound, imagining the possible scenarios, such as, the dog's master has fallen off a cliff and lies dying, or someone has put out a tape player with a repeated dog -in-distress loop to lure passersby into the woods, where I will be mugged. Or Timmy has fallen down the well, or it's a robot dog.

I follow the sound to its source, which is in the middle of something that can only be described as a thicket, or maybe brambles, or maybe a briar patch, in which case that would make the dog in question Br'er Dog. Is that how that's spelled? I guess I'm eliminating the "I" and replacing the "A" with an "E". Anyway--

PLEASE CONTINUE, ISAAC.

Dammit Blue Space, I was. That's what "Anyway" means.

SORRY. PROCEED.

Anyway, there I am listening to Br'er Dog plead for his life, and the only thing between us is a huge, impenetrable expanse of densely woven brush, branches, and coils of razor sharp thorn vines. I look around. It's completely dark. There's ice on the grass. No one is around. This dog must be saved.

So, dressed not in work boots and a leather motorcycle jacket, but dressy shoes and an urbane wool pea-coat, I crash into the thicket.

It takes an incredibly long time to get to Br'er Dog. The brush is up to my neck, and walking through it is like forcing my way through giant industrial-size steel wool. With thorns. I'm advancing so slowly that I start to wonder if B. Dog is backing away from me in fear as I approach, which I would totally understand since by this time I am crashing violently against the bushes, stomping and thrashing and cursing like some kind of stomping thrashing cursing guy. But finally, my tiny LED keychain flashlight illuminates B. Dog's face, and somewhere up in Heaven, angels rejoice, and sprinkle angel dust down on this thicket. Not…angel dust. Angel…powder. Angel sparkles. Is sparkles a drug term? Ok, they sprinkle angel sparkles.

The situation is thus. B. Dog is a small Terrier type beastie whose leash is utterly tangled in the br'er patch. I dig down to his level and detach the leash, then carefully pull him out of the stickers, hoist him up above the treeline, and crash my way out of the brush. You should have seen how heroic this looked, I mean really, the only way it could have been more heroic would be if B. Dog was a voluptuous 18th century maiden with ripped bodice, and I was Fabio.

So, I haul B. Dog out of the thicket and take him back to my car. He's soaking wet and it's freezing out, so he's shivering uncontrollably, so I have to kind of wrap his nasty wet-dog ass into my nice coat…stinks, dog hair everywhere…Anyway, I take him back to my car, and, long story short, I find the owner, who had gone home to get a flashlight to search. The owner is a middle-aged man, but my hopes of delivering the dog to a tearfully grateful voluptuous 21st century maiden are briefly revived when he mentions it's his daughter's dog…but she turns out to be 16, and not even all that voluptuous. Probably not even a maiden, for that matter.

So in the end, it didn't turn out all that dramatically, but the point is, when does this kind of stuff happen? How often do you rescue a puppy from a sinister thicket? That kind of thing hardly ever happens inside my apartment, I know that much. There aren't even any thickets in there.

The whole event just struck me as some kind of omen. In fact the middle aged man even said so, said it was a good way to start 2007, rescuing a puppy. And then on my way back from this adventure, I picked up a pair of elderly hitchhikers who only wanted me to take them about 5 blocks. The old man even complimented my car, which he referred to as a "Hondai". (this is what people over 50 call Hyundais.)

What does it all mean, you ask? How is this significant? I don't know exactly. But scabs are falling off, calluses are being ground down, and it will probably hurt soon, but I would say that hurt is unequivocally better than numb, and you can't walk around all the time bundled up like the little brother in A Christmas Story. That little punk couldn't even move.

Blue Space, you look like you have something to say. You want to offer an opinion on the direction my life is going? Got any sage advice? Didn't you used to be an actual sage? On like a mountain in Tibet kind of thing?

"….."

Well?

WHY HAVEN'T ANY LADIES CALLED ME YET?

Oh we're back to that huh? It's all about that again already?

YOU SAID LADIES WOULD BE CALLING ME.

They're going to, Blue Space. Soon. No joke. I talked to one. She's going to call. She's just nervous. Maybe you should call her. That's the man's roll, isn't it? I thought you were a pretty old-fashioned guy.

GIVE ME HER NUMBER. I WILL ABSOLUTELY CALL HER. I WILL CALL THE PANTS OFF HER.

Well, that might not be appropriate… No, I think I'll let her wait for her own good time. Just…you better stay by the phone, because she said she's only going to call once, and she doesn't leave voicemails. So….you have to stay by the phone. Until she calls.

VERY WELL. PLEASE BRING ME FOOD AT LEAST ONCE EVERY OTHER DAY.

I'll try to remember.

Goodnight people.


2 comments:

  1. You magnificent, puppy-saving son of a gun, you! :o) -Hillary

    ReplyDelete
  2. Are you an animal lover? This may be a silly question because only a few individuals don't care for animals.
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    ReplyDelete