Today I had the Fourth Grade Winter Solstice Celebration first thing in the morning, and so I got to watch Brian play the flute in the Fourth Grade Band. It’s totally trippy that he, not to mention all of his classmates that I have known since kindergarten or in some cases, pre-k, is already in Fourth Grade and in the school band. TRIPPY, I tell you.
Afterwards, we parents proceded to the classroom to celebrate the “publication” of the “Small Moments” books that each child had written. A “Small Moment” is kind of like a slice of a memoir. It’s a bit like a blog entry, as a matter of fact, only it is bound and has a dedication page. Brian’s small moment concerned Lewis as well as me, but in all honesty, I have no memory of the incident, whatsoever.
Apparently, however, Lewis does. So, I thought I would let him weigh in on it. Go ahead, Lewis:
“Yo. Thanks, Mamacita, it’s an honor and a thrill to be telling the tale here on the blog that you spend so much time writing, when you could be spending that time feeding me. Not to make you feel guilty or nothing. It’s just that I come from the streets, in case you don’t remember. I found myself out there, well, I don’t really know how anymore, somethin to do with a fence and a hole and a serious squirrel jones….yeah….squirrel….okay, right…so, there I was, out on the streets of the Bronx, and the last time I had anything to eat was breakfast that morning when the dude that be my alpha threw half an egg mamuffin and a coupla hash browns into my bowl. Ahhh…egg mamuffin….but anyway, right…so, yeah, I donno where my next meal coming from, and food is kind of like crazy important to me, you know? And then somehow I got ended up in a kennel in some crazy-ass place where the cats just taunt you from across the hall and dogs have a way of disappearing…you know?
Mama? You never been to a place where the dogs have a way of disappearing? It’s called the “System”. And it means bad food. Kibbel, dry as dust, on a paper plate. Yeah, there’s smuggling of cookies. But if you want in on that deal, you need to be someone’s bitch. And was bad enough when I woke up one morning and found that, well, someone had already started that process.
Oh! The humanity!
But about the kid. The kid with the red hair. Yeah, he don’t eat too fast. He taunt me. He plays wit his food, and he leaves it sittin there while I drool and remember the hard times. When food was scarce, or at least you had to like getting humped by some pit bull mix to get the good stuff. So, the red head has this muffin on his plate. It’s dark and lovely and studded with something dark and lovely. Perhaps liver chunks with a side of, I don’t know, liver chunks. I didn’t know. But I had to know. And so when the kid turned his back, I lunged. I grabbed for it. That dark and lovely muffin went down in one swallow.
But the kid had a look of terror in his eyes – he thought that the muffin was a double chocolate. And chocolate be dog-arsenic, or so the peeps would have you believe. Truth be told, I don’t buy that junk. But the boy, well, he’s another story.
You, mama, you had to tell him it be a cappucino yuppie scum muffin. But we know the truth, Mama, don’t we? Chocolate all the way, Mama. I’ll never tell. One condition though. One condition. NEVER ever offer my leash to a Jack Russell Terrier at the Dog Park. EVEN AS A JOKE, Mama. It’s not funny. Did you see me laughing? No. Never. Again. We got a deal, Mama?”