THROTTLE by GORDY GRUNDY
JUNE 2007; ISSUE No. 6
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A BOY AND HIS DOG, PART ONE
   
   

There has been trouble in the household. My Inner Child has been acting out and my Inner Adult has grown very concerned, even alarmed. Something must be done. The schoolboy pranks and rascal-hood stunts have evolved into edgy and unseemly behavior. The neighbors have begun to weigh in with catcalls of “Gangsta!”, “Incor!” and “Hey JD!”, slang for Gangster, Incorrigible and Juvenile Delinquent.
The Inner Adult, long known as permissive and unable to control the Inner Child, was at a loss again. Given the boy’s natural rebelliousness and issues with authority, military school was not an option. We are well known at the private schools from which he has been 86’d. Local youth centers and after-school programs say “No way.”
Medication offers a sure-fire method of enhancing the pleasurability of a child. Two pills a day beats the hell out of actually having to spend time with them. Unfortunately, cash and convenience are an issue; a child psychologist is expensive and requires additional carpooling. Besides, the high price of pharmaceuticals could be better spent on a Hawaiian vacation, a new car or more meds for the Inner Adult.
After much hand wringing, it was decided that the Inner Child needed more responsibility, rather than more meds. Responsibility builds character. Character breeds maturity. Maturity lets the parent off the hook. Responsibility doesn’t cost anything. It was time to get the boy another dog.


Dogs offer many benefits. They are merrymaking. The concept of dogs is diametrically opposed to my feelings for the Islamic Fundamentalist. Puppies parallel cotton candy, blue skies and apple pie. A wagging tail is a great way to start the day.
Dogs are humanizing. My household is an artistic community. I live in a world of beauty, noble concepts and complex theories. With the mind’s eye on a lofty plane, it is easy to disregard the wind in our hair, the smell of a rose and the touch of earth under our feet. Dogs are grounding. There is nothing like cleaning up dog shit to engender a more earthy perspective.
And it’s true that dogs really are man’s best friend. The common perception believes that dogs are loyal. In truth, the statement reveals that dogs are simply preferred. Given the sorry state of humanity, I’d rather spend my time with a dog. They are generally more interesting. It’s a hoary old truism, but dogs really do have a greater nobility.

Choosing a breed is like selecting a mate and everyone has an opinion. I was working in the yard when the old lady next door snickered, “If people look like their dogs then you better get that Inner Child a rabid pit bull!” I laughed good-naturedly and made a mental note to egg her front door as soon as it got dark.
My sister idiotically suggested a small dog. That idea, like every one she has had since I met her, was quickly and flatly dismissed. That’s like suggesting a Ford when everybody should know I only look good in a Jaguar. A small dog on my leash would be like a glass stone on a platinum ring or a Big Mac on fine china. Absurd!
I have always been partial to floppy-eared Dobermans. We look alike. The angular face, stallion-like body and fierce reputation belie a warm sweet heart, a quick mind and a congenial attitude. Besides, the kid has worn out several of them. Dobies are hearty; you can pet them with gusto. Another Dobie it would be. I called the Doberman Rescue out in Fillmore and made an appointment.


In the next issue of artillery read how the best laid plans go terribly awry. The Inner Adult falls in love at the first wag of a tail. One big dog becomes two dancing devils and the Inner Child is facing three to four at Tehachapi. And I’m left picking up the poop.


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GORDY GRUNDY is a Los Angeles based artist. His visual and literary works can be found at www.GordyGrundy.com

   
         
         
   
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