UNITED STATES—Alas, I, code name Luna, the most charming pit-bull lab in the world, am let outdoors as my bosom canine pal, DeVille, scampers back inside and away from my jaws of steel. Here I can dictate to my “master” (believe me, he’s master in his own mind) such eloquence as I can muster from my safe house. Which isn’t all that safe (let me digress, ruff! ruff!).
I darn near got mortally quashed by a pile of coffee-table books that have found themselves stowed atop an armoire, as they await the long process of being vetted for either donation or new residence upon the coffee table soon as it is liberated from the mountain of dirty, odiferous laundry. Whose to say that a muscular pit-bull mix such as Luna can’t have a rich vocabulary encompassing jewels of lex such as odiferous and catalytic converter.
Unfortunately, most unfortunately, for my “master,” the stack composed of the Taschenbuk Helga paintings of Andrew Wyeth, a Helmut Newton photo compendium and one of those brick-like compleat Shakespeare: comedies and tragedies (magnifying glass included), struck the first three toes of his right foot with a mighty, bone-splintering thud. Not to mention Gail Buckland’s cool photojournalistic history, Who Shot Rock n’ Roll. Fine a bathroom read as ever graced the top of the porcelain tank. My master is reconciled with its physical condition, believing Paul McCartney’s, contribution, “London, My Love,” alone is reason enough to keep enjoying the volume. The lens of a Liverpudlian in awe of the grand city.
Who care if it bears the marks of Luna, chomped off the spine. Ditto, Ray Carver’s posthumous collection, Call If You Need Me.
Now, what was I, Luna, thinking? Oh yes, Master, after a deceptively sunny morning when you optimistically laundered a pair of socks and the cool Herb Alpert t-shirt, the clouds are cunningly conniving to obscure that bright azure lining that always dwells behind the ever-changing parade of sleek cirrus and turbulent cumulus formations. (Ya better scram inside, old boy, before the drops start pelting down.)
