Protrope (pro-tro’-pe): A call to action, often by using threats or promises.
“If you don’t have another baby pretty soon, I’m going to leave you on somebody’s porch.” Whoops. I should’ve said “litter.” I was talking to Dinah, the poodle and queen of my puppy mill. Jaques had been after her all week, but she would run away from him or bite him, or both. This was the first time something like this had happened. Dog reproduction had always been fail safe, with nature following its course naturally and reliably.
If Dinah was done reproducing, I could give her away to somebody as a pet. My niece Joanie had been pestering me for a dog since Christmas. I checked with my brother and he said it was ok. So, I got a food dish, a bag of food, a collar, and a leash at the pet store where I sold most of my puppies, and then, headed for my brother’s with Dinah. My brother was waiting at the door. Dinah barked and wagged her tail as she went through the front door. She sniffed around the house and jumped up onto the couch with Joanie. Joanie was elated and gave Dinah a big hug.
Joanie would take Dinah for walks, bathe her, brush her, feed her and generally care of her like a doting mother.
Then it happened.
Dinah got off her leash and was “accosted” by a coyote. Joanie told me Dinah and the Coyote were “dancing together.” My God! Dinah was bred by a coyote. This was a total complete shock.
Dinah became pregnant and gave birth to a litter of four “Pooyotees.” One of the puppies had two heads! One head was Poodle, the other was Coyote. He was healthy and grew right along with the other pups. We named him Flambeau after one of the characters on “Father Brown Mysteries,” a lovable thief who made repeated appearances on the show.
Flambeau’s heads would bark at each other, and sometimes he seemed to have a hard time deciding which way to go. The heads would growl at each other and eventually make a decision. Sometimes, the heads would fight over whether to chase a ball, or sit, or shake hands. Clearly, the two heads had minds of their own that were fraught with conflict.
Flambeau was living with me, so I had to struggle with his problems. I bought him a shock collar and would give him a jolt whenever he would start fighting with himself. He would yelp and stop the fighting. One night while I was sleeping, Flambeau pulled out the bedside lamp’s plug from its outlet. He chewed the chord to bare wire about a foot up from the plug, wrapped it around my neck, and plugged it back in.
I was nearly electrocuted. To this day, I do’t know how he got the chord wrapped around my neck. I’ll ever forget the smell of my neck burning. I knew why he did it. It was retribution for the shock collar I used on him.
I discovered he was the highest dog I.Q. In the world, and that’s how I advertised him in my traveling show: “Pooyote Pacesetter: The Genius Two-Headed Dog.”
Flambeau could paint beautiful symmetrical designs with his two noses dipped in acrylic paint. He could bark-sing in harmony with himself. His favorite was “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” He could compete with himself in pulling on a chew toy. Audience members loved it when they paid $5.00 to be licked on the face by both of his heads.
We had a successful 8 year run when Flambeau dropped dead after licking an audience member’s face. Flambeau was murdered. The person was an animal rights activist who had smeared cyanide paste on his face “to liberate the dog from slavery.” I thought murder was a weird kind of liberation. The murderer, a Columbia University graduate student, was given six months in jail for animal cruelty.
I was heartbroken. Flambeau was irreplaceable. I retired and started collecting Social Security. In order to afford an apartment and eat, I have four roommates. They treat me like a dog and I like it. I have a basket by the front door.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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