in my past life, i never really could have imagined this. even my most wild jesus-comes-down-in-a-cloud fantasies were, at heart, corrupt, dark. jackson and kurdt didn’t really wreck fame for us all, exactly, but if they couldn’t get a little joy out of the life, what made me think that i was going to, in addition to all the work it took just to get a taste?
this would have been impossible. look at them! i smile like a goon at the applause. how can i resist? i love them! they love me! i am a champion. i am a good dog. i am the best in show! fuckin’-a! they see me, baby, shakin’ that ass.
i don’t remember much about puppyhood. i’ve heard franke talk about my parents (julia sapphire von bismarck, champion weimaraner, and fisher’s revenge, a pay-for-sex type and also well-decorated,) but i can’t recall meeting them. or suckling. it doesn’t really matter much. being a puppy was badass. i couldn’t have sucked up enough blow in weeks to get anything similar to that manic crazy fucking bouncy puppy madness.
and i adore being a weimaraner. i’m a good one, too; good temperament, no inbreeding, no short neck, no bad back, no twisty elbows and no missing teeth. whatever it was that decided i deserved another stint on this rock at least gave the nod to decency and kindness. i’m my old favorite breed. not too bad, considering i could have wound up in the basement being pepper-sprayed for that perfect fighting demeanor. (it shouldn’t happen to a dog!)
my biggest (and only) self doubt comes with fur color. why couldn’t i have been grey? they’re so silky, ghostly. some days it bothers me. i’m even more listless than is the norm for my breed, and i’ll whimper some. still, it’s not a bad lot, and i could have been one of those blues, who, while most lovely, are the results of nazi experiments (or so they (we) say,) and are barred from competition. bad dog!
so here i am: the best of show! can i get an a- (as in fuckin’-a, dog!) –men from the congregation? not that i need it; the kind people filling madison square garden give me, westminster kennel club’s best of show, plenty of love. good dog! swear to god: if i wag my tail any harder, i’ll go ass-first to the floor. i’m smiling so wide that the drool’s starting to collect. big shake of the head! the kids like that. good dog! i am the greatest! i am a champion! my breed stands supreme! if franke would let me off this leash, i’d do goddamned backflips like a cheap circus performer.
i would never have called the human me lazy, though some did. there was just so much to do, mountains of things i didn’t want to do, that i found life paralyzing. it’s so much easier with my beautiful master. she’s responsible for all this, for my tremendous coup today (best of show!) her ‘good dog’s give me an indescribable (to humans) physical feeling. i’m in love.
if only i had someone like franke guiding my old life, i would have... grrrrrr. i suppose i would have been surly and withdrawn, unappreciative, and had people telling my i didn’t wear the pants. i like being a dog. i like not wearing pants.
i’ve though about getting hollywood on her (and maybe show off a little,) by trying to communicate. but what would be the point? a doggy keyboard extension and half an hour to say something when anything really worth saying is best expressed with licks, bites, or a sold tail-wag? nope. i’m happy! woof! i’m pissed. grrrrrrrrrr. sad. whiiine. much easier. people talk to much. they shock my species for vocalizations, but they themselves never shut the fuck up.
such thoughts are far away today from the mind of this akc champion. i am yokozuna! we haven’t even had interviews yet. i love television. i still love television, only i’m on it sometimes now. granted, i’m not on the eleven o’clock news, but i’m not that kind of media hound. i will be as handsome as i possibly can be for my beautiful fans, those dedicated watchers of specialty animal programming on cable.
how often did i get on t.v. as a man? maybe three times: protesting some war that wasn’t really a war while in college, on some game show (which i did not win,) and another time i can’t remember. now i’m the news, baby! good dog! and there’s no fear of being a fad with this version of fame; weimaraners have been akc recognized since 1943. that’s like since leonardo to my kind.
and being lower (i think this is considered lower) on the whole enlightenment cycle has its benefits as well. i might be the very best on this day, and every dog has his, but i think if i wound up, as i did when i was a person, being average, it wouldn’t bother me. it’s not something that scares me like, say, the idea of ticks. when i walked on two legs, a life out of the scope of anonymous eyes seemed like a curse. i can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible.
interview time! i’ve got to go. good dog!