Monday, September 28, 2015


I wake up in a bed that's not mine, not nearly as exciting as the stereotype entails, as what woke me up isn't some stranger from a promiscuous encounter, but Bruno, the gigantic rottweiler mix that I've been dog-sitting for the last week.

He needs a walk and he won't hesitate to bark at me to emphasize his point. I mutter my resistance and get up to feed him. Hoping that will satisfy him for an hour or two as I crawl back into bed.

I hear him wolf down the food in the other room. Just as I close my eyes a cutlery-rattling bark reminds me that the only bitch in this apartment is me.

I sigh and get dressed. I put his chain leash around his neck and take him out.

As we walk towards the elevator to get to the ground level I am confronted with a spectacular sunrise. I feel a touch of gratitude as I push UG⭐️. (Upper ground)

as we exit the building we are confronted by what looks like a tiny Cerberus.
on closer inspection it's three small fluffy dogs bunched together and led by a large bald black man with sunglasses. the three small dogs bark and growl at Bruno. The man leading them giggles, as to him they might have names like Charles, Frufru and Lady Fuzzington, but to Bruno they could easily be called breakfast lunch and dinner. Bruno pulls on the leash but I deny him a fuzzy snack and a lawsuit as we continue onward. 

      We meet another dog but this one has manners, and as is proper Doggy etiquette, both parties proceed to deeply inhale each-others genitals. Bruno could spend all day like this so I drag him away from his new buddy and we continue our walk.

 Only when one walks a dog or works at a hospital does one know the experience of looking hopefully at a sphincter. When Bruno finally finds a worthy patch of grass to soil, I collect his expressionist art in a small bag, I look up and see the sidewalk bathed in light from the morning sun.
 I would never see this without a dog. I wouldn't have a reason to wake up so early, just as we round the corner back to the apartment I hear banjo music. Some nomad is sitting by the entrance to the apartment and plucking a banjo, an oddly delightful surrealist moment as one does not usually hear live Banjo at the corner of Ventura and Centinela. 
The touch of gratitude I felt before grows exponentially. 
Some dogs are seeing-eye dogs, 
but all dogs are seeing-life dogs.