The Master of Nothing

Trainer says "this dog does not want to please master."

She is right. My commands are irrelevant. He responds solely

to treats. Calculates benefits like coupon clipper. Skittles

backward when approached. Pulls leash like bull against

training collar. Claws me jumping. Nips. "Wrong, bad

dog," is dare issued to miscreant. Screw you, he lips. We

have a staring war after which he lunges through air, nips

elbow. I pin him down, back to ground, straddle, sternly

enunciate "No. No jumping." Bore eyes into eyes. Release.

Chastened, he slinks away. Five seconds later hits me

midair like twisting sailfish. Dejected, I quit for the day,

knowing tomorrow...recidivism. He flunked puppy

preschool because he refused stay command. Non-smoker,

I crave Parliament. I want Old Crow. I stroke face,

kiss crown, hoist to lap, otherwise, weeks, months, my

baby doll. Two years now I'm drunk sucking through

nostrils mouth-exhaled smoke forming circle of self-

administered gratification. I love him. On hiking trail he

dashes twenty yards ahead, turns, like bull stands

rooted four-square facing me and when I approach leaps,

springboards off chest, strikes grounds, swivels, leaps,

springboards again, lands with concussion, thud, grinning,

then waltzes off to Marrakesh. One accepts one's child-

ren. One thanks God. One swells with pride. Play an

etude for us, Tommy, a polka, John. Tenderness squeezes

grapefruit tears. Oh baby, oh sweetie pie, my snatching

delinquent. Perfection flies out window like confetti.

Now rears onto hind legs, cha-chas across kitchen

counter, neck strained, cheek flat, tongue outstretched and,

jackpot: one pound block of gouda cheese which

becomes in seconds empty streaked cellophane wrapper.

Aching, melancholic, half naked, bewildered in the col-

lapse of years, "Bad dog!" shouts the master of nothing.