Herr I Go Again

Umm, I won't go into too many details, but recently a friend decided to take a break from his hospital job to go to, of all places, Columbia, for a week. Well, the jokes flew back and forth, but when it was established that there were no duty-free shops at Medellin International with dime bags I kind of lost interest.

But what he DID do, was leave us his dog for a week. A dog. In this apartment. On the eighth floor. To wit, this dog:



Now, while me and dogs go back a long way, I don't trust them. Brigitte "loves dogs", in that sepia bubble of nostalgiahood in which some of us bask from time to time (ripples, blurs and multiple harp soundtracks extra).

But me . . . uh-unh. So I approached this small bag of spiked fur and grafted-on tail (from a vintage helicopter toy) with a small amount of trepidation.

His owner, regrettably, "trained" this dog in French. Regrettably, I confine my excellent French to those who most deserve it: the French. English is fine, but I could see the dog wasn't getting it -- the wheedling, the begging, the orders, the bargaining . . . the pee still ended up far from the newspaper, in a manner of speaking.

Brigitte, however, strode into the task with enthusiasm, barking orders in the King's French with matchless aplomb. However . . . the pee still remained far from the newspaper.

So I hit upon a brilliant idea. Speak to it IN GERMAN! That magnificent Teutonic language, that commanding tongue where one word can send thousands to ovens even when shouted by a pygmy dwarf in a monocle and ill-fitting jodphurs! The ideal language! Instead of "Si-si, va faire pi-pi! Va faire pi-pi sûr les journaux MAINTENANT!" it became "UNTERMENSCH! GEHST-DU DER URINEN MACHEN ÜBER DEINE ALLGEMAINE ZEITUNG JETZT! JETZT! *JETZT* MEINE KLEINE TEUFELHUNDE!!!! RAAAAUUUSSS! RAUUUUSSSS!!!"

Oh, I forgot the "Schnell" at the end. But believe me, that gets results in the dog world!

I only have the hellhound for another four days but I was thinking of using a commandant-by-proxy for the rest of the time -- my vocal chords are sensitive -- so I was on the lookout for a Hitler action figure to add to my GI Joe collection. Hey, you wouldn't believe how many large corporations that make millions of beloved 12" Fighting Men decline to make a 12" Hitler doll! (or Stalin, for that matter!)

So I went looking! The only pathetic approximation I could come up with was here.

Needless to say, he's undressable -- his clothes are melted to his corpulent frame -- and the dog will not be impressed when I brandish Lil' Adolf and bark my orders in flawless German!

And when the coup de grace comes -- it always comes with my GI Joes, sooner or later -- I will derive little satisfaction pulling The Mustached Midget's feet off one by one to serve as ornaments in the fishbowl. Oh, I didn't tell you about the fish that our friend left in our safekeeping?

I've been reading that book Luc left me entitled "Japanese Cooking" with renewed vigor lately.

Raus!