CANIS MAJORIS
BY
ROBERT WALLACE PAOLINELLI
I am a
dog. Not an ordinary dog, a common pet one
sees at the end of a leash being walked about;
not one of those small poodles or dachshunds or Chiuahuahuas
accompanying old women in the park, nor am I a giant mastiff with a spiked
collar or a sleek borzoi or a furry malmute. Au contraire, my consciousness is
uniquely human, created through a scientific process known only by two people,
one of whom is now mad and the other, alas, dead.
This is not an
easy tale for me, but one that must be told.
The idea for
me was first conceived (so I was told later on) after a certain person made a
mean-spirited attempt at humor at a cocktail party. This person said to my creator to be:--
"Well, if
your experiments are so conclusive, Professor,and you are trying to make a dog
who can sniff out gold and silver deposits, you might as well make one who can
talk, read and do sums. Ho!"
Everyone who
heard the snide remark had a good laugh at my creator's expense--it had been intended, derisively so, by the
speaker, whom you shall hear more about.
My dear, late creator, being a very gentle man took the snide remark to
heart; but being a serious scientist, he
started to give this remark serious consideration. And in the middle of the night the ideas
started to flow, which ideas lead to my ultimate creation.
My creator was
a kind soul; he was a gentle man who
hadn't an enemy in the world--or so it would seem--but I'll get to that in this
history at its appropriate place.
Nonetheless, he was a good man, well-loved and respected by his friends,
colleagues and his students, who admired him not only for the knowledge he gave
them, but for the manner in which he taught.
He was, as I've said, a gentle man, soft spoken and, most of all (and
most importantly) a patient and understanding teacher who never harangued his
students, never was cross when errors were made, and he never denied any
student time to finish an assignment.
His teaching
philosophy was simple: It had taken
Western science many centuries to develop and no amount of cramming or cajoling
or intimidation could make students learn in a semester or two what it had
taken centuries to perfect. Because of
this attitude, his students (more than any others at the college) worked harder
and learned more.
His name: Albert Lucius D'Augusta, M.D., Ph. D.,
geneticist, physiologist, chemist, humanist, biologist, teacher extraordinary,
scientist par excellence, my dearest friend, my creator, and, without
stretching the point, my father.
His passing,
which I shall relate by and by, left me so heartbroken that I ate not for over
a week and drank but a little water. I
moped, I ignored my books and my interests, my language studies and other
similar interests. Father's passing was
a turning point in my life, but that is part of the story, too.
Father's
original experiments with dogs dealt with their ability to sniff out
things. As we all know, dogs, over the
centuries, have been used to find things through smell--especially people-- and
in more recent times illicit drugs and explosives of subtle odor. He began thinking about using a dog's highly
sensitive sense of smell to find gold, silver and other precious metal
ores. After some initial work, he buried
small gold ingots, but his subject could not yet detect them. Father was the first to admit failure; but he kept on working until one day he was
thrilled when his subject, a surgically enhanced bloodhound selected for his
project, was able to find an ingot of copper he had buried six inches
underground. In a later trial, with the
same bloodhound, the dog was able to sniff out an ingot of iron, one of tin and
titanium. Unfortunately, this poor hound
got the sniffles, which turned into pneumonia.
Every effort was made to save him.
Father stayed up nights on end.
All his ministrations and gentleness failed and the bloodhound died.
Father's grief
was so profound that his spirits plummeted.
And for almost a year he hadn't the heart to pursue the study further,
convinced that his having altered the bloodhound's olfactory lobe and olfactory
nerve to heights of sensitivity heretofore unknown in any beast was the cause
of its death. His personal diary and his
scientific journals at the time reflect his misgivings, most cogently, about
altering the natural order of things.
The early diary and lab notes are in my files.
His diary also
shows that during that year he dedicated his free time to things other than his
science: The reading of histories of
early science and thinkers of the ancient, classical world. This reading lead him to continue reading
through to the Renaissance; and from
that he began to read old Italian texts which gave him the impetus to write a
long letter to his cousin (about whom you shall hear more of later) telling him
about his experiment gone awry. With
tears running the ink, Father poured out his heart. His cousin responded. I have the letter: "It is not so much that your science was
a failure and that you, too, are a failure.
No. You misunderstand the depth
of your genius. Don't confound
yourself. It is that you missed a step
or two in the process. It might be said
that you have understood 1 and 5, but have missed 2,3, and 4 in the
process. That's good, but not good
enough. Albert, take heart and examine
the gaps between 1 and 5. Therein lie
the rungs you missed this time.
"I'm so
glad to read you've been indulging in the classics. Good for you.
They were always our favorites in our youth. But you turned to science and I remained
among the classics and our lives have taken different courses, yet we remain
intimate friends--in spite of our separate paths..." This letter encouraged Father to continue,
and, gave him solace. But he did not
continue his study.
Father,
instead, went for long rides and walks in the woods around the campus where he
lived, in Pennsylvania, in a small college town. He wore rough tweeds, went fishing and went
to concerts and plays. His life was
superficially normal, but underneath there was a concept of profound scientific
theory forming.
Amid his
bucolic walk-about and internal delvings, Father fell in love.
Her name was
Sylvia Titus, a handsome, statuesque, amber-haired doctor of physiology and,
oddly enough, mycology. She was a new
teacher who became Father's office mate.
It was not love at first sight for either of them and probably for the
following reasons: Sylvia was much
taller than Father, who stood only five foot six or so and she was almost five
foot eleven. Furthermore, she was
something of the nervous type and he was not.
She liked dancing and Father had never danced in his life; she was a loquacious person and he was
not. He had a rather quiet, reflective
demeanor. Sylvia, on the other hand was
dynamic and filled with a seemingly boundless source of energy.
They were
pleasant enough colleagues and office mates.
But he being of a quieter mien, they only spoke about things pertaining
to their respective work and faculty matters, the weather and the like. One day, Professor Titus had arranged to be
taken to a distant part of the large campus where an oak forest of vast
proportions grew, where Sylvia was certain she would find several species of
delicious mushrooms. However, at the
last minute, her guide was called away for family reasons. Sylvia, being new to the area, didn't know
how to get to the oak forest and she was most disappointed. Father being the kind man he was,
volunteered, therefore, to be her guide, for he was familiar with that wilder
area of the campus and its unmapped roads because of his recent walks. Moreover, he liked the idea of foraging, it
fitted well his present state of mind, and, he was looking forward to learning
something about mycology himself. His
curiosity was ever active. Being the
determined woman she was, Sylvia immediately accepted Father's offer.
Using his
small truck, more suitable to the terrain than her sedan, they drove off. She was eager to begin this mushroom hunt
because it had been raining off and on for about three days, interspersed with
warm, sunny days, the exact conditions for mushroom growth.
Needless to
say the mushrooming was a great success.
Dr. Titus was a methodical huntress and their three or so hours of
meandering under the oaks had filled their baskets with a variety of
scrumptious mushrooms of all sizes. They
were deep in the oak forest, far from the truck when the sun disappeared; but both of them, being caught up in the abundance
of fungi, gave no thought to the darkening sky.
The rain came
down on them suddenly, catching them both off guard; and being far from the truck, they sought
shelter in a giant oak which years before had been struck by lightning and the
ensuing fire had burned a large cavity in the trunk large enough for two
refugees from the storm--the likes of which had not been seen in several
seasons. Father's journal entry of this
event is most detailed and made excellent reading. At first they thought the rain a squall and
would pass. But it was a storm and it
endured. They were more than an hour's
walk from the truck. Both were dressed
lightly, and the rain was running in rivulets on the forest floor making it
impossible to walk safely, and night was falling. The only thing they could do was remain in
the tree's cavity and wait out the storm.
They made the best of it and even managed to sing "Shenandoah"
in rough harmony to while away the storm.
When at last
the storm abated, the forest was pitch black, the wind was up and they were
both cold, wet and hungry. Father, who
had a good sense of direction, suggested they hold hands (because of the
darkness) and make their way through the mud and the cold dripping trees back
to the truck. It took them quite some
time of bumping into branches and trees, stumbling over roots and being soaked
and bespattered with mud before they got out of the forest, not too far from
the truck. Sylvia's comment was: "It is uncanny that you were able to get
us so near the truck." Indeed,
Father was an extraordinary man. Here
his journal states that in spite of Sylvia's limp and soaking hair, her
mud-streaked eyeglasses and face and the squish her waterlogged socks and shoes
made, he felt some stirring in him about her.
He quite plainly states:
"She was like a Great Mother figure or a Diana. She stood proud and wild--and it was to her
archetypal wildness that I was drawn, and as the evening drew on, I was
attracted more and more to her."
Sylvia lived
far from the campus, on the other side of town, and Father lived in one of the
faculty cottages which was so much closer than Sylvia's abode; therefore, he suggested they repair to his
digs, get warm, drink hot tea and brandy, wash up, then cook the mushrooms. She being in the state she was in did not
refuse.
When they got
to his cottage, where the light was better, they were able to see their true
condition and they couldn't help being aghast--but, also, couldn't help
laughing at their wet and muddied clothes and hair. He sent her to the bath first. There was, however, a problem with a change
of clothes, for as it has been noted, she was tall and Father short and none of
his clothes would have fitted her comfortably.
But he was quick-witted and told her not to worry. While she was in the bath he took an old
flannel sheet he rarely used, folded it and cut a hole in the middle of the
fold; he got a tie he never wore to use
as a belt. He left this for her to wear
until her clothes could be washed and dried in his appliances.
While he was
in the shower, Sylvia busied herself in the kitchen sorting and cleaning the
wild mushrooms. And dressed in her improvised mumu, which she found rather odd,
but, nonetheless, proper, considering the circumstances, she made herself at
home in the kitchen, and with what she could find, cooked a fine dinner for
both of them.
They had a
jolly time that evening. Their adventure
and shared suffering had brought them just a little closer. The mushrooms were delectable. He opened a bottle of wine and she suggested
candles. And it was during their casual,
candlelit dinner that these two seemingly disparate people came to know one
another better, and they drank many toasts and exchanged many smiles.
Fully, it goes
without saying, that after the events of that adventure, Sylvia Titus began to
see Father in a different light. And he,
who heretofore had never given much thought to romance (himself a life-long
bachelor) found himself utterly enchanted by Sylvia, whom before he had seen only
as a colleague and a polite office mate, but who had now opened a window of his
heart he never realized he had; and it
was because of this new-found love that his spirits, which had lain long in a
funk over the death of the bloodhound, soared.
I apologize if
I make much of this, but I must make it understood it was this incipient love
which was the cause of Father's rekindled interest in his private study of
canine olfactories, which ultimately was the cause of the arising of my most
unusual being.
CHAPTER II
Father often
reminisced about that mushroom hunt and their amusing predicament and, of
course, the tasty mushrooms. And as long
as Sylvia was with us there were always tasty wild mushrooms in the house
which, incidentally, I became fond of and did my share of finding them when
they would take me afield. For Father,
their first mushroom hunt was a significant point in his life, for it was
during the first blush of their growing affection that Sylvia convinced Father
to accompany her to a faculty cocktail party (a social event Father would never
have attended on his own); but because
he was in love, he went. It was at that
cocktail party where, after he had shared with some of the guests his work with
the late bloodhound, that the derisive (previously mentioned) joke was made by
none other than the Chairman of the Animal Psychology Department, Professor
Herman Blauteufel, who had been trying to teach chimpanzees and other apes to
speak, and was a little sweet on Sylvia. But she would have nothing to do with
him. I learned of this tidbit in passing
from Sylvia herself whom I'd asked to tell me how she and Father had met.
Blauteufel had
had little success in his undertaking in spite of big grants of money, a team
of assistants and many supporters around the country waiting for the day
Professor Blauteufel would announce to the world that he had taught Jezebel
(his prized subject chimp) to recite the Gettysburg Address, the Preamble to
the U.S.Constitution and the Lord's Prayer both in English and Esperanto. This was his supreme goal. He had an aggressive drive to bring to
fruition his dream of being the first ever to give the world this cogent
demonstration of his scientific brilliance.
He was to
become my Father's worst enemy and the man who tried to kill me. I still carry the memory of that vicious
assault. But I get ahead of myself.
Professor
Blauteufel, being in his cups (as was related to me and also noted in Father's
journal), made several other nasty remarks to Father that night, for Blauteufel
did not like anyone to outshine him and the olfactory experiment, in spite of
the hound's demise, was admirable--if not remarkable--and was also a threat to
Blauteufel's ego--even if their respective fields, goals and methods were
different. Blauteufel was jealous Father
had achieved some success and Blauteufel very little, and (I believe) because
his advances had been rebuffed by Sylvia--but this is only ex post facto
speculation on my part.
. As I have
already mentioned, Father was of gentle demeanor, but that night he took
umbrage at the continued mockery of Herman Blauteufel; and, unlike him, he exchanged a few heated
words with Herman which became the talk of the campus. Father never understood why the animal
psychologist had acted so against him.
Father, who
was always very honest with me about his personal life, told me that for days
afterwards he was upset by the insults, and it was that very night after the
cocktail party that he began in earnest to bring together the ideas that would
lead to my creation. It was also that
very week when he asked Sylvia to marry him and to be not only his dearly
beloved wife, but, further, to help him carry out his plan, to wit: Create a dog with superintelligence, one who
could speak, read, write and do sums and have a great sense of smell.
She
laughed. Not at his marriage proposal,
for by this time she was admittedly smitten by Father, too, and they were both
very much in love and were known by all who knew them as steadfast lovers. No;
she laughed at (what she said) was the preposterousness of his plans,
and added: "Anyway, I've an amino
acid I need to concentrate on. I
couldn't possibly pursue such a project.
I shall be your wife, my love, but not your collaborator. I could act as your assistant from time to
time--I'll volunteer that much. Why
don't you recruit one of Blauteufel's group," she said ingenuously.
The very
mention of his name made Father uneasy, for somehow (and in spite of Father's
loveable, unaggressive, uncompetitive nature) he had taken an intense disliking
to Herman and his mockery--had taken it to heart; but, as he said, he would show that
"nincompoop," (Father's mildest epithet) that he would surpass
him. It was so unlike him to be
thus. Apparently Blauteufel's comments
had touched off something in Father and now he would show that "ass,"
(Father's strongest epithet) up for what he was. He made no bones about this dislike and his
journal is quite clear on that.
A date was set
for their marriage. In the meanwhile,
Father wasted no time, for he began a correspondence with the leading experts
in DNA research around the country and in Europe. This was the path to success: DNA. I
have all that correspondence in my files.
I consider those letters as a kind of pre-birth certificate.
Some time
before, Father had applied for his sabbatical.
His request had gone through the normal channels and by the year's end
it came back to him approved. He had
saved his money and had been awarded a modest research grant. Now he and Sylvia (who did not have a year
off) made plans for their wedding, which would take place during the regular
summer vacation, which they would spend together as man and wife. Father's concomitant plans were to travel
during the honeymoon and talk with several of his DNA correspondents. Sylvia was delighted. And so on the Twenty-first of June, exactly
one week after the close of the semester, they flew to Hawaii and were married
that day. They spent two weeks in Hawaii
in nuptial bliss, then flew to Cambridge, England. While Sylvia, on her own, visited the several
colleges, museums, churches and socialized with people whom she got to know
through Father's correspondents, he was in deep discussion with his peers and taking
copious notes.
They visited
Uppsala, Copenhagen, Paris, Vienna and Rome, taking in the sights and, for
Father, adding to his knowledge. Then
came Athens and a side trip to Canea and Knossos, thence to Cairo and the
pyramids. They saw and visited them all
in the complete happiness of their wandering honeymoon.
But the summer
holidays were ending. Sylvia had to
return to her teaching. After a tearful
goodbye at the Cairo airport, Sylvia flew back to the United States and Father
flew to Berlin to consult with a famous scientist who had achieved remarkable
results in a DNA experiment with cats.
CHAPTER III
I have had to
treat of my Father's personal life prior to my birth so that you, dear reader,
will have a clearer and better understanding of him, the people around him and
what happend afterwards.
While Father
was in Berlin and Sylvia back in Pennsylvania, she went to the school's faculty
housing office, showed their Hawaiin marriage certificate and just managed to get
a large, charming, two story house for married faculty. With still two weeks remaining before the
fall semester, and with her usual zeal, she was able to move out of her small
apartment, move Father's things from his bachelor's cottage, and set up their
own love nest in a beautiful part of the campus: The house where I was born, my first home.
It was not in
too long a time that word of their June marriage spread. Naturally everyone was surprised--if not a
little shocked--at the strange union of Albert D'Augusta and Sylvia Titus. Of course, everyone offered his
congratulations and the faculty wives and female teachers even gave her a
belated wedding shower. Among the
presents she received was an Amish quilt which was my very first bed.
Father returned; and after a few days rest from his trip, he
plunged into his work, going at it night and day. Sylvia had fixed up one of the many
downstairs rooms in the house as his study.
He stayed there hour after hour, sometimes missing meals. But his determination was great and, spite of
his wife's urging to go slowly and to eat regularly and get ample rest, he took
little heed and continued his readings, his cogitations and his plans for me.
It was his
intention to create a dog with a quasi-human nervous system and with a brain of
superior intelligence, to be created with human DNA: His own.
Father made it
a point never to discuss again in public his research. He kept very quiet, worked privately,
secretively. He swore Sylvia, also, to
secrecy and she stood with him on that until the end. He was determined to do his work without
funding. Because his work was a private
study, he was beholden to no one and could work with complete freedom to
examine areas others were either too timid or too scientifically conservative
to approach. I came to like the spirit
of his creative drive. He would sink or
swim on his own. It was a strong trait
and I'm sure I inherited it, too.
His work,
being a private project, he used his own money.
But the undertaking of my special creation proved to be more expensive
than he had anticipated. In the eighth
month of his sabbatical, he realized that if he did not receive some financial
assistance, he would soon deplete his savings and would have to discontinue his
project for lack of ready funds.
Much as he
disliked the idea of soliciting funds, he approached certain people of means he
knew, asking for small sums to see him through the end of his sabbatical; and because he was so well-liked, he received
enough to continue.
By the end of
his sabbatical year of profound study, thinking and rethinking, he was ready to
begin the laboratory stage of his great undertaking.
With his new
funds, he bought equipment and turned his study into a well-equipped laboratory
and small surgery and went to work.
According to his early notes he had no success and felt at times that
perhaps he had taken on something greater than his abilities. But Father, frustrations and early failures notwithstanding,
persevered. After about a year or so of
experimentation, he managed to create and to teach his first subject, a
dalmatian (whom I've always considered my first cousin) to recite the English
alphabet and, repeat the multiplication tables up to the fours. But in spite of this breakthrough, the
dalmatian could not speak independently, but only recite by rote and could not
solve simple multiplication problems.
Yet this was progress and his experimentation went on.
What happend
to my cousin is a rather sad tale which I shall relate briefly: One day Father and Sylvia went to the oak
forest to gather mushrooms. By this time
Father had learned to identify a few edible fungi; but somehow he had picked some poisonous ones
which Sylvia failed to check. They used
the wild mushrooms in a beef stew, which they also shared with my cousin. During the night both Father and Sylvia got
sick. It did not take Sylvia long to
figure out why they were vomiting. An
ambulance took them to the hospital.
They recovered. When they got
home, Father remembered that the dalmatian had also eaten the stew! Alas, they found him dead. Both Father and Sylvia were devastated. It was as if some kin of theirs had passed
away. Cousin dalmatian was buried with all
due respect in the back yard and an apple tree planted over his grave.
Needless to
say Father was in a funk for several weeks.
He went to his classes, he lectured, guided his students in their
labs; but his private project he avoided
for the longest time.
Sylvia,
although her contribution to the project was limited, did what she could to
cheer Father up and encourage him to return to his work and not let the death
of the dalmatian curtail the possibilities of his project.
His spirits
revived, and once again he plunged into his work. His next project was also a success and went
beyond his own expectations. The subject
of this second experiment, which started out as an in vitrio spaniel, could not
only recite the alphabet and do sums and solve simple arithmetical problems, he
could be taught vocabulary, and, by the time the spaniel was three years old,
it had a vocabulary of approximately three thousand words, including a few
foreign phrases, e.g. Non sum qualis eram, meaning, I am not what I used to be,
which I thought very appropriate. This
second cousin of mine could even recite nursery rhymes and seemed to be making
great progress and exhibited even greater potential yet untapped.
This second
relative of mine, whom Sylvia named Rodin, because she said the spaniel was a
piece of living sculpture, was the apple of Father's eye, and, as I understand
all too well, Rodin loved Father as only a dog can love a man. One day, however, Rodin stopped
talking--simply stopped and no amount of coaxing or allurements with good
things to eat, games, toys and the like, could induce him to speak. What Father found out (with some tests) was
that Rodin had a sudden and profound lapse of memory, or, perhaps more
appropriately, linguistic amnesia. Rodin
could still respond to simple commands, "come," "sit,"
"stay," the usual commands a dog understands; but he could not carry on a simple
conversation as before, do sums or recite nursery rhymes any longer. In short, Rodin had reverted to being an
ordinary dog, a friendly family pet with no particular talents beyond those of
a spaniel. Rodin was a great
disappointment to my dear creator. But
his disappointment only fired him to greater efforts.
Then the
unexpected happend:--
Rodin and Sylvia were in the parking lot of
the local supermarket; a bag boy was
helping her load the groceries into the bed of Father's small truck. Rodin was in the bed of the truck. A stray dog came trotting by. Rodin jumped from the truck and the two dogs
started sniffing each other as dogs are wont to do. The stray was a female. Rodin tried to mount her; the stray refused him, he tried again. The stray ran off--with Rodin in hot pursuit.
Sylvia ran
after him calling for him to return. But
he was after the female and ignored her command. She ran back to the truck and tried to
follow. By the time she drove in the
direction she had last seen them going, they were not to be seen. She drove everywhere, even down back
alleys. After more than an hour of
fruitless search, she gave up and went home, hoping Rodin, after he had spent
himself on his paramour, would be home.
But he'd not returned. Father,
too, went looking for him. He drove all
over town and all over the campus; but
Rodin was not found. They asked around,
they made and put up flyers. They
waited. However, Rodin was gone and he
was never seen again.
Rodin's loss
was a blow to Father's progress, for in the interim he had re-examined his
original work and believed he had discovered the reason for Rodin's memory
lapse and would have corrected the error.
So he had to start all over again.
Poor Father, he worked so hard.
As I look back
now I can almost feel his frustration, for three years is a long time. And, further, his funds were almost gone and
he would be forced to use an investment he had put aside for his old age. Sylvia protested. This was the first time in their (thus far) happy
marriage, that they disagreed, for she wanted them to use that investment to
buy a piece of land near Gettysburg and build on it and use it as a summer
retreat and, eventually to live there when they retired. She was adamantly against encumbering their
retirement and their existing capital.
He acquiesced--reluctantly so--but he could see her point.
It was then
that Father, more determined than ever, decided to make public his work and
wrote a proposal to the Foundation for the Advancement of Animal Research,
F.A.A.R., the very same foundation from which Blauteufel received much of his
research money.
Blauteufel got
wind of Father's query letter to F.A.A.R. and stormed into Father's office one
day stating Father was invading the territory of the Animal Psychology
Department and he wanted no "amateur" to siphon off funds. (It must be noted here that in spite of the
many thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours spent trying to teach the
chimp, Jezebel, to recite, all Blauteufel and his team of assistants had
managed to do was get the chimp to utter a few sounds which he, et alia,
considered a great step forward).
Sylvia, who
recounted this rude intrusion to me, said Father was calm all the time Herman
was attacking him; and when Herman ran
out of things to say, Father rose from his chair, turned, and, facing Professor
Blauteufel, bared his teeth and growled--nay--roared as would some beast about
to attack a threatening enemy!
Blauteufel was
stunned, never expecting such a response from a man known throughout the
college as mild of manner and speech.
When Father roared a second time, Herman turned white with fear, spun
with alacrity and literally fled from the office. Father then turned to Sylvia who was equally
as shocked at his most uncharacteristic response and asked her, in a calm,
natural voice, "Would you care to have lunch in the faculty dinning room
or go home for lunch?" I always
liked that story and admired Father for his spur of the moment action and his
suave, cool comportment afterwards. I
believe I take after him.
That roar, if
I may stretch a metaphor, was the first roar of cannon fired in what was to
become an ugly war of wills between my dear creator and the malicious Herman
Blauteufel, who used all the inside influence he could to stop F.A.A.R. from
considering Father's initial letter of inquiry for funding. Blauteufel won that skirmish; but the gods were smiling favorably on
Father, and my future: Father bought a
lottery ticket and won!
And that
changed everything. I would be born with
a silver spoon in my mouth, favored and spoiled like a first born son. How he had come to buy the ticket was rather
mundane: He had purchased some last
minute items at a local convenience store.
His change was exactly one dollar.
He had seen the customer before him buy a chance and he thought,
"Why not?" So he told the
clerk to sell him a quick-pick ticket on the Pennsylvania lottery. Father always said it had been the hand of
Providence that had guided him in the unusual transaction, for he never gambled
CHAPTER IV
Never before had Father had so much money.
He told me later that for days he had walked around as if in a daze; Sylvia, too.
It took some time for the realization of their having so much money to
take hold. Afterwards, however, when the
shock of having won abated, Father did not think twice about how he would use
the money. First off, he donated several
thousands of dollars to the school and started buying scientific
equipment. Sylvia got hold of a real
estate agent and soon had a farm near Gettysburg. Both, however, did not let the money go to
their heads and they continued to teach, which I always thought commendable of
them.
Blauteufel,
however, was enraged with jealousy; and
from the day Father's winning was made public, he went out of his way to be
rude to him and to deride him to anyone who would listen to his slanders. Father ignored the slurs with noble dignity.
The knowledge
from cousin Rodin's creation (with subsequent, recalculated refinements) was
put to good use and my genius Father-creator proceeded in earnest to chart,
then combine the DNA of my being: I
would have all the known aspects of a dog:
Speed, stamina, loyalty and devotion, courage and strength. Inside I would be an intellectual giant, the
likes of which the world had never known.
Outwardly I would be a Vizsla, otherwise known as a Hungarian
pointer. My purity of breed had been
preserved through the years and I was later to take great pride in the purity
of my pedigree. My ancestors were known
for their innate hunting ability. They
were swift of foot--as I would be. They
had superior noses--which I would have in spades. I would be powerfully built, lithe,
well-balanced and would have a graceful gait.
I would be a dog of power and drive, affectionate and a good
companion. I would be brilliantly
intelligent, especially in arts and letters, languages, poetics and
translation. I would have a short coat,
rusty gold. I would be all of that
through the pure genius of my Father-creator whom I loved as no other dog in
the history of the canidae family ever loved:
With the natural love a dog has, combined with the natural love and
compassion of a human being.
Father's
genius knew no bounds. From Father
himself I received the genetic seeds of his genius. His scientific genius notwithstanding, I was
drawn, in the main, to the Humanities and was never much interested in the
sciences except in a general way. I have
since concluded that scientific curiosity is not inherited.
From Father's
fantastic assemblage of subtlely spliced and combined DNA (by his still guarded
secret formula), I was created. Father
used ovum and semen from pedigreed Vizslas.
I was first created in a Petri dish, then put back into the womb of my
biological mother, my beautiful Vizsla mother, at whose breasts I suckled for
the first six or so weeks of my extraordinary life.
My gestation
was that of any ordinary dog; however,
Father noted that my biological mother had a voracious appetite during her
pregnancy, quite beyond the norm for a bitch carrying but one pup. Her partuition was normal, however, and I
came into the world, co-incidentally, on the Twenty-first of June (their
wedding anniversary), at noon, in dear Father's lab, attended by him and
Sylvia, who videotaped my entrance into this world. I still have the videotape in my files and
occasionally watch my birthing tape.
Of my birth I
have no recollection, although I have tried to recall it, but in spite of my
mental prowess, I have not been able to call it up. However, it was when I was about three months
old (and I have Father's scientific journal to confirm this), having been
subjected to hundreds of hours of tape recorded repetitions of the sounds of
all the languages I now have at my command, that I let out my first
"bark." I put bark in quotes
because it wasn't exactly a pup's bark, but a clear recitation of
"a,e,i,o,u," holding the "u" as would a singer holding the
final vowel at the end of a song. Up
until that first utterance I had been mute, and that did worry Father, so he
told me later.
As to my
biological mother I have to admit I had very little natural affection for her,
having always felt closer to humans than to canines; but she loved me as would any other mother
dog. True, I suckled at her teats and
she played and romped with me and I followed her around for my first few
months, but gradually, and without any coaxing from Father or Sylvia, I
naturally gravitated to him and had less and less to do with my Vizsla mother
until one day I simply walked away from her and even though she often came to
sniff me, lick me, I ignored her. One
day she ran in front of a truck and a week later died in the local pet
hospital. I missed her a little, but no
more than that.
In retrospect,
I know I abandoned her because of what I am.
My nervous system was different, my psyche was different and the natural
instincts a dog normally has were not predominant. My peculiar combining had all but obliterated
the classic behavior of a dog. I was
cano-humano, a new, unique species.
I must say one
thing about Father and Sylvia which, the older I become, the more I
appreciate: In spite of the
extraordinariness of my being, they treated me not as some scientific
phenomenon, but as an equal, a colleague and as a member of the family. And as I became more and more aware of my
uniqueness, I valued and admired their democratic treatment of me. Sylvia, however, whom I tried calling Mother,
forbade me to call her so. I felt hurt,
but that was how she wanted it.
CHAPTER V
My schooling
was unlike that of any dog. Of course I
was not a dog in the purest sense of the word.
Outwardly, of course, I was no different than any of the other dogs one
saw around the campus or in town. (However,
had you looked into my eyes you would have seen my intelligence). Dog I was, but my consciousness was most
certainly not that of a dog. While
others were taught to respond to "sit," "stay,"
"jump," and so on, I was taught languages, music appreciation,
philosophy and mathematics, and I was treated with the utmost respect. I was spoken to as one would a child
prodigy--if you will allow me the term.
Father and Sylvia never used baby talk with me. In my early days I spoke with a slight lisp,
but this was corrected through my mentor's patient coaching and eventually, the
lisp vanished as my lips, tongue and vocal chords grew stronger and accustomed
to the speech of humans. As I grew
older, my voice matured into a mellow baritone's, and I loved to sing and
became especially fond of Italian and German opera, Provencal lays and Chines
folk songs.
My capacity
for learning languages was prodigious and far exceeded Father's
expectations; it had been completely
unforeseen, almost gratuitous; and being
the wise man he was, Father saw to it that this precocious talent was nurtured
and put to good use. By the time I was a
year old, my command of English was vast and I could read anything put in front
of me. I did have, however, a hard time
turning pages. My paws often wrinkled
pages or tore them. I tried using my
nose, but it got sore so Father fashioned rubber turning devices which I might
describe as resembling cylindrical hands with but one finger, which I could
easily slip over my paws and turn pages with ease. I used these artificial fingers not only for
turning pages, but, also, to input on the computer and to push the buttons of
the radio and cassette recorder and other electronic equipment at my disposal. I am completely ambidextrous.
In his wisdom,
Father invited, then engaged his cousin, the professor of languages and
linguistics whom I've mentioned, who was the only person outside my immediate
family who knew the secret of my exceptional abilities, a man I came to love
and admire and respect as much as I did my creator. He was originally from Bologna; he was suave, cosmopolitan and wise; he had taught himself German and French by
the time he was eight and his fantastic ability, being recognized by his
parents, was guided, and he became well-known in linguistic circles at an early
age. His name: Corrado Graziotti. Because he was Father's relative, I called
him Uncle, instead of cousin, which is the Italian custom of address for older
cousins. Uncle Corrado was also a fine
painter and I learned to appreciate painting through his superb guidance. He lived with us. Because we were a rich family, Father was
able to pay Uncle a handsome sum to be my teacher. He, therefore, quit his position in New
England, and came to us to be my mentor in foreign languages, linguistics,
history, art, literature and poetics. He
gave me a thorough grounding in the Humanities of both the East and the West,
and I loved his teaching and loved learning and became enamored of music,
writers and poets.
Acquisition of
vocabulary and grammar came easily to me.
In just a couple of years, under the brilliant tutelage of Uncle, I
mastered all the languages he knew. My
interests grew and I studied other languages on my own, later. My accents were perfect, although I must
admit I still have trouble with the four tones of the Beijing dialect--but my
Chinese is fluent and idiomatically correct.
I can say without boasting that my accent is perfect in my French, German,
Spanish, Russian and Italian, which Uncle Corrado took extra pains to perfect
in me.
I would like
to backtrack a moment and say something about my first birthday. By the end of my first year I had grown in my
intellect and understood the importance of names and I wanted my own name. On the first anniversary of my birth, Sylvia
baked me a lovely chocolate cake and cooked a special dinner in my honor. When, however, it came time to write on the
birthday cake, she suddenly realized that I had no proper name; that in the excitement of my birth and the
concern for my care and learning, no name had been given me. I had always been called by the sweet
endearment, "Honey Pup," which I had answered to and which name
Father had written in his scientific log--which log is buried deep in a place
only I know.
So we sat
around the kitchen table discussing names.
Father was terribly embarrassed at his having neglected giving me a
proper name. But I really didn't hold it
against him. How could I? Nonetheless, I was anxious for a name. Father said:--
"Well,
Honey Pup, what name would you like?' I
was thrilled that I had been asked. I
grew serious, for I knew that a name is very important and would stay with me
the rest of my life. As they waited
patiently, as they always did, I was thinking.
And then I said, rather solemnly, "I shall call myself Anthony
Albert Corrado Silvanus (after Sylvia, of course), D'Augusta."
They were duly
impressed that I had taken not only their first names, but had also taken the
patronimic, D'Augusta, which I always carried with such pride--even if I was
not a true son of the family--at least according to the human tradition, that
is. I took Anthony because Uncle Corrado
often recounted to me the lives of the saints and the life of St. Anthony of
Padua had impressed me.
So on that
first birthday cake Sylvia wrote:
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANTHONY," which she surrounded with small
icing roses. And then they sang the
Happy Birthday Song and I was so very happy on that first birthday and was
moved to shed a tear or two. Later,
Sylvia, on her own, penned my names and date of birth onto the pages of the old
family Bible and added in parenthesis, "(Dog)."
CHAPTER VI
My intellect
was a secret known only to Father, Sylvia and Uncle Corrado. And they were good at keeping me secret. Of course, I was taken out for walks and rode
in the bed of the little pick-up truck with my face to the wind (which I loved)
like any other dog, and I always went mushrooming with them, an activity I came
to enjoy and I got to be pretty good at identification, for I have a superb
memory and a superlative sense of smell--thanks to my ancestors and the
foresight of Father. I could smell
certain kinds of mushrooms which grew underground or were hidden under piles of
leaves or grew under bushes. However,
from the very beginning, when I was becoming aware of my rather unusual status,
I was instructed never, never to let on that I was a genius who could talk,
but, when in public, I was to act as would any common canine, which was very
hard for me. It must be understood that
for the longest time I was under the impression that all dogs could talk, for
that matter all animals. Living and
being raised as I was, I had no conception of life outside of what I was
exposed and accustomed to: Living in the
sole company of the humans who were rearing me.
I was living in a rarified ambience, cut off from the outside world. But gradually, as my consciousness grew, I
began to get an inkling that I was not a normal dog.
I wanted to
participate in the human condition. I
wanted to talk to lots of people. I've
always had a great curiosity and I am by nature a friendly entity. I found people most interesting, and there
were things I would have liked to discuss with them. The circumstances, however, did not permit
this and left me sad, confused and frustrated.
Frankly, I
hadn't a clue as to how a dog acted in public.
After all, I was being raised and treated as if human; moreover, my dog's instincts had been
diminished through my extraordinary creation.
I had to watch videos of how dogs acted when they met, sniffing and all
the rest. In short, I had to be taught
how to act like a dog. Most ironic,
that. I never liked any of
it--especially the smell of another dog, which I found repugnant, so I held my
breath and did a lot of pretending. I
even had to learn how to bark!--which was a strain on my delicate vocal
chords. I told Father one day that I
would rather stay home than to suffer the humiliation of acting like a common
dog, to which he replied:--
"But you
are a dog, Tony." I protested most
vehemently when he said that. It was one
of the rare moments when I lost my deference toward him.
"Father," I said, "it may be true that my outward
appearances are canine, but--as you well know--my psyche, my intellect, my
spirit are just as human as yours."
It was that
outburst of mine which truly brought home to my Father-creator just what it was
that he had created and I saw how utterly helpless and embarrassed he looked
when I said my intelligence, psyche and spirit were just as human as his. Father hung his head and sat down; for a long time he was silent. His eyes were closed. I watched his face intently, for I could
sense great turmoil going on behind those closed eyes. And then from the corners of his eyes tears
appeared and he burst into heart rending sobs and buried his face in his
hands. His whole body trembled. I didn't know what to say. Nonetheless, I tried to console him; but nothing I said seemed to calm him. Seeing I could do nothing, I went to the
phone and called Sylvia, who, thank God, was in her office. Briefly I explained what had happend. She came home immediately and, taking him in
her arms and cradling him, she whispered sincere encouragements to him. She kissed him and wiped his eyes and
nose. I was deeply touched by her
tenderness and compassion. Eventually he
calmed down.
"Anthony
Albert, I have made a great error in causing your creation," he said. "I have tampered with nature and now I
have a dog who is more like a son to me, yet I must show him to the world as a
dog--yet he should be entitled to greater respect. Oh what a fool, what a supreme and arrogant
fool I am--just to show up that ass, Blauteufel." He looked at me directly in my own
tear-filled eyes, "Anthony Albert," (he always doubled my name when
he was about to impart something of import or wanted to stress or impress
something one me), "I most humbly apologize to you for having been the
cause of your creation. You should never
have been born. I am worse than a Doctor
Frankenstein, and I am truly sorry for any and all suffering I have caused you. I'm sorry, so sorry...can you find it in your
heart to forgive me? I'm so ashamed, so
ashamed..."
At first I was
taken aback at his humble apology, for I'd not expected him to take what I'd
said so much to heart. I clearly
remember my response:--
"Father,
I appreciate and love you very much.
There is no need for you to apologize.
You are a scientist and you used your science to prove your
theories. You have demonstrated through
my creation the possibility of creating entities heretofore unknown in the
history of life. Is that not in itself a
great achievement? It is, it is, and I
laud you for your scientific genius.
You've done nothing to be ashamed of.
Also, I do not hold you responsible for my inability to mingle socially. I'm well aware of the limitations of my
social mobility. It is not you, per se,
Father, who causes my suffering, it is my rather peculiar status and how
society would perceive me. You've
created me, but you didn't create society.
I accept who and what I am unequivocally. I don't have much choice in the
matter--considering my odd place in the scheme of things--to say the
least. After all, isn't it a common
expression of complaint among humans to say 'It's a dog's life?'" He smiled.
"Of
course I can't go about as if I were a human--at least not yet; and I know I am not human, in spite of my
superintellect. And if I am humiliated
when I am forced by the conventions of society to act the dog, well, naturally,
I don't like it, but I do it out of love for you, and, considering the
circumstances, there's not much that can be done about it. Wouldn't you agree, Father?" I spoke truthfully, innocently. There was no guile or ulterior purpose in my
words. However, I did not know my
ingenue's honestly would cause further pain.
Sylvia turned
to hide her face and weep. And Father, seeing
his dear wife going through the paroxysms he'd just suffered, went to her and
it was he who now held her in his arms as she wept.
All of this
emotion had a great effect on me. I am a
being of deep feeling myself. But I felt
positively helpless to mitigate the emotional drama before me. Not knowing what to do, I excused myself and
went to my room and played the Brahms Piano Trio No. 3 in C Minor, which Uncle
had given me. I tried to lose myself in
the music while I simultaneously read Le Voyage et Navigation Facit par les
Espaignols, by Antonio Pigafetta, an account of his travels with Magellen,
which was fascinating reading under the proper conditions. But neither the music nor the tale of
adventure could calm my spirit, and I could not concentrate. I was most upset--even if I tried to mask
it. I shut the music off and pushed the
book away and fell to brooding which led me to believe that I no longer wanted
to continue living as I did. I would run
away from home, fend for myself and live as I could. My hasty, immature decision, however, turned
out to be more than I'd bargained for.
Nevertheless,
I felt rejected, and although I was proud of what I was, I felt both my
"parents" were now sorry I had come into the world--and maybe Uncle
felt the same way. Hurt and determined
to leave, I wrote a note, holding the pen between my teeth, and, putting it on
the kitchen table, I slipped out through the dog door on the back porch. I jumped over the back fence. My ability to jump made the six foot fence
surrounding the back yard mere child's play for me. I ran and ran until I was exhausted. I never bothered to see where I was going but
I had unconsciously gone to the oak forest where we often went mushrooming, and
it was there that I rested.
I don't
remember falling asleep, but when I awoke it was dark and I was hungry and
lonely--most of all lonely. I walked
around sniffing, hoping to find some edible fungi; but the growing season was long past. My hunger was great. I wanted to eat. I soon discovered, however, that I was
completely unprepared--dog wise--to fend for myself. I was aware of nocturnal creatures about me
and I could have captured a few to assuage my gnawing belly; but I could not bring myself to kill, much
less eat raw meat. The very idea made me
shudder.
I found my way
out of the forest and trotted along in no particular direction. Eventually, however, I found myself near a
fraternity house. Some students were
sitting out on the front porch eating. From
a distance I could smell food and boldly I walked up to them and was about to
ask for food when I remembered I was just a dog to them and had to act like
one, so I nuzzled the hand of a young man who was holding a slice of pizza. That was the best I could do. Little incidents like this made me realize
how bizarre was my life. Here I was,
perfectly capable of social intercourse with humans, yet my form alone, and
what it conjured up in the minds of those about me was what determined how I
would be perceived and treated and how I would, in turn, act. I was a very good actor, too, but a puzzled
and confused one,
How silly, how
stupid it all was. What a shame. I felt an ass at times having to act out this
charade. I did not have, then, however,
the level of life experience or wisdom I have now. I was but a babe in the woods--in spite of my
brilliance. I was like a young Mozart
without music.
The student
with the pizza was very kind to me; so
were the others. They petted me, rubbed
my neck and said I was a "good boy."
I wanted to scream! But I
maintained my reserve. Nonetheless, I
liked the attention and their innocent affection.
They fed me,
first one slice of pizza (with anchovies) then another with sausage and
mushrooms. I ate everything they offered
me until one of the students said, "Hey, what about me? I've only had one slice. Save the rest for me." No more pizza was offered me, although I
could have eaten more. Momentarily I was
satisfied, but now I was thirsty and wanted something to drink. It must have been the anchovies. The students were all drinking sodas out of
cans, so I lay down and they accepted my presence and went on eating, drinking
and talking until one of them said, "I need some water." I followed him at a discrete distance to the
kitchen and when he drank I lifted my head and made little pleading
sounds. He immediately understood. He filled a bowl and I drank, slaking my thirst. As I drank he watched me and said: "How in the hell did you know I was
coming in here to get water? You are one smart dog." I pretended not to hear him and drank more
water even though I didn't need anymore.
Their kindness
to me was appreciated and I stayed with them a while longer; but I was missing the family and my
comfortable and familiar surroundings. I
realized that my place was home. I
nuzzled all those who had fed me and the one who had given me water. I even licked his hand and, with a mighty
bound, I leaped from the porch and lost myself in the darkness.
It was obvious
to me how helpless I was away from home.
How could I get along without Father, Sylvia and Uncle? I had no driving instincts for the hunt. How could I feed myself? Resolved, therefore, to return home as
quickly as possible, I took a short cut.
But my quick return was barred some blocks from the refuge of hearth and
home by a large, most unfriendly dog who was incensed when I did not adhere to
the prescribed protocols of canine convention.
I discerned
that his body language communicated dominance and he was exhibiting a most
unwholesome aggressiveness which I found abominable. Nevertheless, I had nothing against the
beast; for I understood (intellectually,
at least) his territorial nature and with a few chosen words I tried to calm
him down, mimicking the sincere tone a human might use trying to defuse an
angry pet. But he would have none of
it. He wrinkled his nose and curled back
his lips slightly. His hair was up, his
tail tucked, his body lowered, ready for attack. In a flash he was on me! I am no coward; my ancestors walked with the Magyars across
many a bloody field. However, this poor
beast was neither aware of my ancestry nor my genetically engineered physical
prowess, and, not wanting to hurt him, I tried to run away; but he clamped onto my ear and only let go to
make a grab for my throat. Out of
necessity, I counterattacked. It was a
brutal, bloody spectacle. I shall spare
you the details of my combat. The noise
of our duel brought people out of their houses;
porch lights went on.
By that time,
however, I had bested him and the poor cur lay waiting for me, in complete
surrender, to deliver the coup de grace:
Its stomach and throat were ready for my teeth. The brutality of it all sickened me. I fled as fast as my four legs would let me,
leaving a trail of blood behind me. When
I saw our back fence, I hurled myself over it and ran straight through the dog
door. Sitting at the kitchen table were
Father, Sylvia and Uncle, who had gone out earlier and was now home. They jumped from their chairs when they saw
me.
I was covered
with blood. Sylvia screamed and went
into a panic. I was startled by her sudden change in personality. She exhibited such odd behavior that I
couldn't help taking note of it, the circumstances notwithstanding. I was able, at long last, to calm her down
and to convince her I was not bleeding to death. Gradually I explained what had happend. The ear wound, however, was serious.
Father took me
to his surgery, and while Uncle held me and soothed me with kind words, Father
cleaned my wound, put some stitches in it and gave me an antibiotic. Otherwise I had only superficial scratches
and bites. I was washed and Sylvia gave
me a bowl of chicken broth and other things to eat, for my appetite was great.
Father sat
next to me on the floor and patted me affectionately. Uncle sat nearby and I was happy for his
presence. I felt loved and wanted once
again. When I felt relaxed enough to
bare my soul to them, I explained how rejected I'd felt, thus my impetuous
running away. And they told me that they
had driven around in both vehicles until way after dark looking for me and that
Uncle had stayed at home in case I returned.
We all cried in reconciliation;
and it was the events of that episode that brought us closer together as
a family, for after that reunion and reconciliation, the natural affection of
all four of us came to the surface full strength, which brought home to me the
words I had read in Dr. Schweitzer's autobiography: "The ethic of Reverence for life,
therefore, comprehends within itself everything that can be described as love,
devotion and sympathy in suffering, joy and effort."
Nonetheless,
that first fight with a dog brought home to me the baser nature of my ancestry,
its brutality and violence and I was thankful I had not been born a common
brute dog. My delicate nervous system,
my education and the sophisticated world view I had developed had no place in
the world of dogs, and, as I was to learn, had no place, either, in the human
world,. But I get ahead of myself.
CHAPTER VII
Some weeks
later, sporting a scar like a veteran of the streets, Father and I were
strolling across the campus on the way to the library when we ran into Herman
Blauteufel. It was my first encounter
with the man--but not my last, either.
Even before he opened his mouth I didn't like him, for when Father
slowed to return Blauteufel's insincere greeting, I growled--something I rarely
did, if ever. The man had touched off in
me ancestral alarums of caution I never knew I had. I remember Father looking down at me in
surprise saying, "Easy boy; it's
all right," the way one would speak to an ordinary pet. But we had to keep up pretenses.
"Taking
the dog for a walk, I see," said Blauteufel. "Is he one of your
subjects? He looks ordinary
enough." Oh, I wanted to shout at
him in all the languages I knew, especially Russian, which is loaded with
vindictives just for the likes of Blauteufel.
But I kept my composure and sat on my hind legs waiting for them to
finish their brief chat. When at last
the cretin was out of earshot, I said to Father, sotto voce:--
"Father,
be careful of that man. He is your
enemy."
"How do
you know that, Tony? You've only just
met him for the first time. He is rather
an ass, but an enemy?"
"You
forget that you have created a most perspicacious entity. Trust my powers of discernment. There are some things I understand better
than you, if you will forgive my audacity."
"Nothing
to forgive, Tony. I trust you. But do you really mean enemy in its accepted
sense?"
"I
do. Do not trust him. Beware of him." Just then some students were approaching and
I had to stop talking.
While I waited
outside of the library I felt uneasy. I
couldn't say why, but I knew it came from our unexpected meeting with
Blauteufel. He had an apt name: Bluedevil--and there was something devilish
and evil about that man which had affected my nervous system.
The reason we
were at the library was to get some books and tapes to further my
education. I was such a fast learner
that I even surprised myself at times.
My mind was like an inexhaustable sponge: I could "soak up," as it were, an
entire textbook in a matter of hours; I
couldn't turn the pages fast enough. I
could read very quickly and retained everything I read. My memory was prodigious and my thinking
original.
In a
retrospective examination of my education, I realized I knew no Latin and, at
that same time, there were some original Latin texts cited in some footnotes I
had read and I wanted to consult them. I
asked Father for a grammar and a Latin-English dictionary. I would teach myself Latin, which I did--in
two weeks. Frankly, I found it rather
tedious, that's why it took me two weeks to memorize the grammar and
vocabulary. But it was worth the tedium,
for I was then able to read Cicero and Livy, Sallust and Aulus Caecina and
Suetonius in the original.
But even as I
waited outside in great anticipation of the Latin texts, I could not shake the
foreboding I was feeling. However, when
I saw Father walking out of the library with the canvas book bag bulging with
books, I forgot all about my presentiments and happily followed him back to the
parking lot anxious to get home and start my study of Latin, ancient Roman
history and literature.
Christmas was
nearing and I was looking forward to a quiet time at our Gettysburg farm and
our cozy house which Sylvia had decorated in a quasi-colonial style which I
found elegantly rustic--if one can imagine such a scheme. But we were rich and could afford to decorate
as we wished.
Uncle Corrado
was off to Italy for Christmas and we were scheduled to leave ourselves the
next day but one when, of all things, Father slipped on an icy sidewalk,
hurting his back, laying him up for quite a while--most of it painful for
him. Our departure and trip were
canceled immediately. Needless to say, I
was disappointed, for I'd come to love the Gettysburg farm.
On previous
visits there Father and I often visited the battlegrounds. Those visits aroused my interests in the
Civil War in particular, and war generally.
You must understand that all of my learning came through books or
conversations. I understood war only on
an intellectual level and I understood violence (having been in a fight myself,
which I have mentioned in its proper place), but I'd never met a war veteran, obviously, nor a
civilian who had experienced war, so I had not a clear understanding of what it
meant for lines of massed armies to stand some yards apart and actually shoot
rifles at one another! Nevertheless, I
found it absolutely incredible that men would perform such an insane, absurd,
murderous ritual. At times, when Father
and I strolled through the former killing fields and the cemetery, an eerie,
sixth sense crept over me: I felt as if
I could hear voices, distant voices, some plaintively calling, some screaming,
some shouting in anger. I won't say I
saw anything--but sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I would see things
(or perhaps I imagined) I saw whispers of forms and shadows of unsettled
spirits. I believe that sixth sense gave
me an understanding of what war, a battlefield is: A great sadness. Yet for all its somber memorial, Gettysburg
was beautiful and I loved going there.
We passed our
Christmas, therefore, at home and every day I would sit at Father's bedside and
read to him or declaim poetry I had committed to memory. Sylvia had hired a domestic to help Father
and to cook, for she decided to spend
some time in the library getting a bibliography together for the coming semester.
I was in the
middle of a humorous recitation of "Rex the Wonder Dog," an amusing
poem about a dog named Rex, who piddled on every pillar and post. Father found it hilarious, and I was glad for
that. Because I was reciting in a strong
voice, neither of us heard the domestic walk in. Suddenly there came a scream and the sound of
something crashing: It was the domestic
bringing a late morning broth for Father, per Sylvia's instructions. For a moment she stood, mouth agape, in
absolute horror. When I started to walk
towards her, she screamed again, turned and fled down the stairs. I followed her downstairs. She kept looking over her shoulder. Grabbing her coat and purse, she ran out of
the house screaming, never bothering to close the door to the cold,
Pennsylvania winter. I pushed it shut
with my paw.
I reported
back to Father immediately, who called the library and had Sylvia paged; but she was not found. In the time it took Father to call the
library and hang up, there came a pounding on the front door. Father could not easily get up and, obviously
I could not answer the door, so I went to the window and looked out: A campus police car was in the driveway; an officer was pounding on the door. I explained the situation to Father.
"What are
we going to do, Father?" I asked.
"Help
me," he said. With one hand on his
cane and another clamped onto the back of my neck, Father, with great effort,
got up from bed, went to the window and opened it. "Why are you pounding on my door,
officer?" asked Father of the policeman.
"Sorry to
bother you, Professor D'Augusta, but we had a report of a woman screaming and
running from this house. Is everything
all right?"
"Yes,
yes. It was only the maid, whom I think
was a little upset about something. She
ran out just a few minutes ago. I do
hope she's all right."
"I'm
going to have to make a report and I'll need her name. Do you think you could come down and open the
door, sir?"
"I've
hurt my back and was in bed, and it's hard for me to walk. Do you think we could do this when my wife
gets back?" And no sooner had he
said that when Sylvia's car hove into view.
When I saw
Sylvia alight from her sedan, my heart sank.
She saw the officer at the door;
she looked up and saw Father and me at the window; she gave us a quizzical look as if to say
"What's going on?" She spoke
to the officer; she knew him by
sight; he was friendly and when she asked
him why he was at the door he told her.
We could hear his voice carry up to us at the open window.
"Then by
all means we need to get to the bottom of this," said Sylvia. "Won't you come in, please," she
said, as she opened the front door.
She invited
Officer Bruner upstairs. I could sense
he felt a bit awkward. I lay down on the
other side of the bed being as inconspicuous as possible. Father gave his account of the incident,
saying that for no apparent reason, the
maid, after she had entered the room, had been frightened by me, and,
dropping the cup, ran out. Father
pointed to the broken broth cup lying in situ on the floor. Officer Bruner wrote the facts down in his
notebook, along with the name and address of the domestic, Adelaide Welch, whom
he would interview. He apologized for
any inconvenience he may have caused, gave a smart salute and left. We were all relieved when we heard his car
drive off.
I could tell
Father felt a little put out. "At
least she could have knocked before entering," he said, a little
grumpily. "You know how word gets
around and the first thing you know rumors will spread about a talking dog--or
a looney professor--or both.
Hrmmf."
"Now,
now, Albert, don't create scenarios. No
matter what rumors might go around, we have nothing to hide. Anyway, don't you think it's time for Tony to
be introduced to the scientific community--to the world? You are a genius and your work should be
known. Why you might even get a Nobel
Prize. Wouldn't that be grand?" she
said, a bit dreamily. Father frowned.
"I'm not
ready and neither is Tony. I haven't
finished with his education; moreover, I
wanted to wait until after I mated him to see what his offsprings would be
like."
Offsprings? Mated? My ears perked up. This was the first time I'd heard of such a
project. I felt my person was being
intruded upon; that my sexual naivete
was not taken into account, that it was presumptuous to want to mate me without
considering my feelings. Now it was my
turn to feel put out. Anyway, what did I
know about mating? I didn't like this at
all and said so. Father looked at me
with a look that said, "I'll tell you all about it later."
"Well, no
matter what future plans you may have, the reality Albert," said Sylvia,
"is that if Mrs. Welch talks long enough, someone on this campus is bound
to hear about Tony--and I don't think I need to mention whom."
Of course she
didn't, for she meant Blauteufel and who knew what mischief he would cause.
Sylvia busied
herself with cleaning up the mess on the floor and I went back to my room and
lost myself in my reading of the Tao Te Ching, in Chinese, and for the rest of
the afternoon I gave myself up to weightier, philosophic considerations and
lent no importance as to whether or not a silly woman was scared out of her
wits because she heard a dog speak. How
absurd.`
CHAPTER VIII
The president
of the college invited Father and Sylvia to his new year's party. Having been cooped up in the house and in bed
since before Christmas, Father readily accepted the invitation and Sylvia was
pleased because there would be a small dance band at the party and she liked to
dance.
Naturally, I
couldn't go. How could I? But even if I had gone, what would I do at a
new year's party? I don't dance,
obviously, nor do I drink and I am not one for social chitchat and banter. Sylvia made me a new year's eve dinner,
nevertheless, of deboned game hen which she roasted with some dried, wild
mushrooms we had collected in season. I
had come to like sweet potatoes, too, so Sylvia baked a couple for me. Before they left, we all hugged--or at least
I tried to hug as best as I can and exchanged new year's wishes, etc.
At the party
several people approached Sylvia and Father asking them about their talking
dog. "What ever are you talking
about?" was Sylvia's response. The
story, as she and Father heard it from faculty and other guests known to them,
was that when Officer Bruner finally got a statement from Adelaide Welch, she
said that she'd heard me talking which scared her half to death; moreover, that I had approached her in a
menacing way and that is why she fled, posthaste. That was what they had gleaned from the
gossip.
Officer
Bruner's report duly filed, the rumor of a screaming woman, frightened by a
talking dog, fleeing the house of a well-known professor, spread easily enough,
and,as Father was told by an inside (and most reliable source) the chief of the
campus police shook his head at the unbelievable statement Mrs. Welch had made
and told his officer to forget the matter.
President
Ardath, an old friend of Father's, asked to speak to him, privately, at his
home, the next day. On new year's day, a rather dull-gray day with snow
threatening, we all three of us drove to President Ardath's house at noon. His grandchildren were visiting; they were sweet kids, one aged six and twins,
eight. That visit was an eye opener for
me because it was the first time I had ever seen twins, although I had seen
pictures and knew much about twins from my readings. While Father and Sylvia were in Dr. Ardath's
study talking, which talk I shall relate to you shortly, I played with the
children and I must say I had a delightful time with them. We did silly things
and I loved it. This play made me start
thinking about being mated. I'd never
given much thought to the opposite sex;
as I've said, I didn't care to be
around other dogs. Father used to chide
me for being an elitist snob; but my
favorite retort was: "But, sir, you
made me thus," and even if he would chuckle, he was always red-faced afterwards.
That afternoon
with the children is also memorable because it made me think about a mate and
offsprings. During a break from our
play, I lay in front of the Ardath's cozy fireplace daydreaming about little
Anthonies running about and me teaching them Italian and French and reading out
loud to them from my collected library.
What splendid little intellectuals they would make. I went into a deep, romantic fantasy of
puppies and guiding them through life.
And what Father had said about mating me began to appeal to me, and, I
started to mull over what kind of female would I like to have--if you will
allow me--for a wife.
Once back home
I was told of the private conversation with Dr. Ardath. The report about Mrs. Welch's screaming had
reached him, officially, and he wanted to hear Father's side of the story. Of course Father told him what he'd told
Officer Bruner; but Dr. Ardath further
stated that the police report alleged Mrs. Welch had distinctly heard the dog
talking.
"Preposterous," said Father,
"she was only imagining it."
"But
then, who was talking? She claims she
saw you very clearly in your bed and your eyes were closed and your lips were
not moving. I've read the report,
Albert. We've been friends for a long
time; I know you've been working
privately on animal experiments. Be
honest with me:
Have you trained your dog to speak?"
Father was a
man of great integrity and he could not lie;
it was not in his nature to do so;
and when President Ardath flat out asked him he said:--
"In the
spring I shall be making a great announcement which will bring fame to this
school, Edward. And science shall have
been advanced beyond anyone's imagination."
Edward
Ardath's face, so Father told me, turned pale and his lips started to quiver
and though he tried to speak he could not.
After some moments of silence Dr. Ardath burst out: "Do you mean to tell me, Albert, that
Tony speaks?"
"I am not
now at liberty to say anymore than I've already said--suffice it to say come
spring you should be ready to greet the press and scientists of the world who
will undoubtedly come in droves to this campus.
Do not ask me more, please."
Father had a commanding adamancy which Dr. Ardath respected and the
matter was dropped.
"And
that's what happend, Tony. I have
decided to introduce you to the world;
but first I want to mate you and study your offsprings."
I was so
proud. Now the world would know of my
existence, my genius, my command of languages and my other talents. I would be famous! It was then that I told Father of my
daydreaming in front of the fireplace, and said I hoped he would find me a
compatible mate I could woo. And, I
apologized for my initial reluctance to be mated.
"My, my,
you are truly an incurable romantic. I
hadn't given much thought to courtship.
I was thinking more along the lines of artificial insemination; but if you'd like to try the natural way,
then, by all means, do so. I have no
objections," he said, matter-of-factly.
I was elated
beyond measure. Deep inside me I was
stirred. I was to have a mate and she,
eventually, my puppies! That very night,
in my room, I put on my artificial fingers and input some poems into my
cyberspace journal on my forthcoming nuptials.
Uncle had
given me a book about dogs and I went through it looking at all the pictures
and reading about the characteristics of the dogs therein. After an intense perusal I kept turning back
to the same page, gazing upon the same picture.
And it was then and there that I finally decided on a real beauty, a
Pharoah Hound. My attraction was
irresistible and I went to Father and told him.
"Very
well, Tony, a Pharoah Hound it will be--the very best money can buy."
And so it was
that he and Sylvia went shopping for a wife for me. Uncle Corrado came back from his Italian
vacation and was with me while Father and Sylvia went to Maryland where Father
had spoken long-distance with an exceptional breeder of Pharoah Hounds.
I always liked
to pass time with Uncle Corrado; we got
along famously because we could speak to each other in several languages and
make puns and double entendres and literary allusions few could
understand. Moreover, Uncle being a
highly spiritual man, always told me stories of the lives of saints, gurus,
kamis and lamas. (I have already related
how I chose my name). We would sit for
hours by the fireplace and he would fill my curious mind with the strange
histories of extraordinary human beings, which seemed never to satisfy my
exotic and voracious curiosity.
It was during
this time while Father was off getting me a wife that Uncle said that he truly
regretted I was not human because he would have stood godfather for me at my
baptism.
"But why
can't I be baptized, Uncle?" I
asked. I was, at that time very naive
about orthodox religions and theologies.
I've since made a thorough study of them and find them remarkably
obtuse, if not downright contradictory and amusing. Nevertheless, his answer was:--
"Because
you are not a human, Antonio," he always called me Antonio, which I liked,
"and dogs, so it is said, do not have immortal souls."
"But are
humans the only form of life that have souls?"
"According to certain faiths and
theologians."
"But what
animates animals if it is not their soul?
After all, didn't you tell me that God created all things? And if He created humans with souls, it must
also follow that He created animals with immortal souls, too."
"I'm not
a theologian, Antonio, and, frankly, I've no gusto to argue such a point. In fact, I agree with you. Animals have souls. To think otherwise is preposterous and
arrogant. However, the reason for human
baptism, as I understand it, is to wash away original sin; and since animals are not born with original
sin, there is no reason for their baptism."
"That
does make some sense. So I can conclude,
dear Uncle, that animals, being born without original sin must, therefore, be
purer spiritually than humans."
"Without
a doubt, Antonio, without a doubt.
Humans are so corrupt, so filled with deceits and jealousy and
greed. No saint and no savior exemplar
has ever been able to change them. True,
some people can be guided, but, by and large, people will do whatever is in
their own self-interest, in spite of noble sermons and baptisms. That's the tragedy of the human
condition. It's an old story," and
he let out an audible sigh which made me just a little sad that this dear and
gracious man saw no possible way to change humankind.
"Father
could create people with gentle dispositions.
Look at me: I'm not at all like a
dog--except my body. If Father could
create a human with benign characteristics, just think of an entire generation
of kind, decent human beings."
Momentarily I was carried away by my fervor and an instantaneous mind's
eye picture of a nation of benign souls, all, more or less, living peacefully,
harmoniously, came to me with the utmost of clarity--and all because of my
beloved Father-creator's genius.
Uncle Corrado
looked at me a long time, then he shook his head. "Antonio, Antonio, you are one of the
most brilliant students I have ever had and I have come to love you as a nephew. However, you are naive--but that is no fault
of yours. Your education is yet
incomplete. In time you will absorb more
and draw your own conclusions, but don't think for one moment that Albert's
genius would be able to save the world from itself. It's been tried many times, in many ages past
and all attempts ended in failure."
And I
responded: "But surely we can
change that through genetic engineering?
We can create any kind of being we want."
"Unfortunately, that's not so far-fetched; and I can guarantee you,
dear Nephew, that if Albert's secret ever got into the wrong hands, then in one
generation some fiend would create an
army of monsters capable of the most heinous acts. No, no my sweet idealist, you are brilliant
academically, and I love you and your spirit, but you do not yet understand
human nature."
How could I
argue about human nature? After all, my
brilliance notwithstanding, I was a dog--even if I didn't think like one. All I had was a deep mind, lots of book learning
and no human experience, and all of a sudden I didn't like being what I was.
I fell into
one of my sudden melancholies. That
often happend to me. Some might even
call me to highly strung--as it is said--but I would often become depressed when
I clearly realized I could never participate in certain events or experiences
which I was perfectly capable of intellectually because I was a dog. Certain pursuits and experiences were
strictly for the human condition and my dogness precluded my participation. I was so much a part of the human condition
and, paradoxically, at the same time, an outcast from it. Had I been of lesser stuff, and had I not
been the great lover of life I have always been, most likely I would have tried
to commit suicide. And although I
yearned for acceptance and a chance to be an ordinary entity in a world that would consider me abnormal, I had to
remember my place, so to speak. I went
deeper into a funk which finally came to a head; and being the sensitive individual I am, I
cried.
Uncle tried to
console me with kind words; but his
efforts did not convince me nor lift my spirits. I excused myself and went to my room, and
while I lay on my Amish quilt, I concluded that I wanted no scions. I would call off the engagement and live out
my years dying puppyless. After all,
what was my purpose in life? Why was I
given so much if what I had could not be put to good purpose, and, through selfless service to the world, help
make it a better place for humans--as well as for dogs--to live in?
These were the
thoughts that kept me awake half the night.
In the morning, after we came back from our walk, I asked Uncle to write
a letter for me which I would dictate.
The letter began:--
"Dearest
Father,
I have always supported your scientific
pursuits. You know this. Further, I have been an exemplary subject
vis-a-vis your program of education for me.
Moreover, our friendship has meant more to me than I can ever
express. You have been like a father to
me, and my affection for you has always been like that of a son,, and I do not
wish to offend you and do not wish you to think less of me now that I have had
a change of heart and wish to withdraw from further participation in your
scientific pursuits. Therefore, I refuse
to be mated with the female you have procured for this purpose. I wish to withdraw and go into
seclusion. I only ask that you continue
to feed me and care for me inasmuch as I am incapable of doing so myself.
With love,
Anthony
Albert."
When Uncle
finished writing, he wiped his eyes.
"You will break his heart, you know that, Antonio," he said,
his voice cracking.
And I
responded bitterly, but not vindictively, "So be it," and I retired
to my room as would a monk to his reclusive cell.
CHAPTER IX
They brought
her home. Her name was Betty. She was a beautiful tan color with a white
star on her chest, white toes and she stood about twenty-four inches high. She had a short glossy coat and hauntingly
beautiful amber eyes. She had elegance,
grace, and I could see in her face that she was intelligent, friendly and
affectionate. She had noble bearing; and, scrutinizing her body, I could tell that
she could move at great speed. The
ancient Egyptians loved these hounds and
Tutankhamen, when his own favorite died, had it mummified and buried as if it
were of the royal blood. I had made a
good choice, but the circumstances of the moment prevented me from truly
appreciating the bride Father had bought for me. When she saw me she ran to me and started to
sniff me. I sniffed her too, and
surprised myself, for I found her scent not unpleasant; nonetheless, after a couple of sniffs, I
tossed up my head in monkish indifference and told Uncle Corrado in Italian to
present the letter while I went to my room and listened to some Bach keyboard
music.
In the middle
of a particularly stunning harpsichord passage came a knock on my door. I called out, "Come in." Father walked in, the letter in his
hand. I pretended great concentration on
the music, wagging my tail in time to the fughetta then being played. He sat and said nothing. Father was always patient and never one to be
rude. I learned my good manners and
politeness from him; but that night I
was not particularly polite. I let him
sit until the music was over.
I got up and
went to my water bowl and drank, then went back to my quilt and, turning to
him, I said:--
"I see
you have read my letter," I said it in the most off-handed voice I could
muster, as if my missive were of little importance and I saw him wince and
shake his head.
"You have
said some very serious things, Anthony Albert and I believe we need to
talk."
I lifted my
head and said: "Really, Father? There is nothing to discuss. I believe my letter was very clear."
"Oh,
without a doubt, very clear. But why
this sudden change of heart? When we
left you were elated and now this," he said, lifting the letter and
shaking it in my direction. "I do
believe you owe me an explanation. I have always been open with you and I would
like you to be open with me. That's
all." He said this in a calm, soft
voice, the voice he always used whether he was explaining the complexities of genetics or commenting
about the beauty of cumulus clouds against a sharp-blue spring sky or the sound
of cooing doves. I could not stay
artificially indifferent to him when he spoke to me so gently and so lovingly.
I went to him,
I put my front paws on his knees.
"I'm sorry if my letter has upset you. I apologize and regret the haste of it. I'm sorry I had Uncle write it. But I felt I could not do otherwise. I am not an ingrate, Father..." My voice choked.
"Yes,
yes, I know Tony. But what happend while
we were gone? Corrado told me about your
conversation; but I can't imagine that
that would change you so--but it must have.
Now tell me: Why have you decided
to become a recluse and break off your engagement?"
"Because
my life, my knowledge is worthless. I am
of no service to anyone. Nothing I know
can help anyone. Could I become a
teacher? No. Could I become a lecturer on the history and
etymology of Chinese characters?
Absolutely not. I must forever
live in this dog's body--even if I am brilliant--but cut off from normal human
intercourse and contact. I am nothing
more than a beast, a beast! And what
will happen to me once you make my powers known publicly? I'll tell you: I shall become a freak, an object of whispers
and finger pointing as I go by. Look,
people will say, there goes the dog that can speak foreign languages, and they
will laugh--never knowing I have a heart full of love and joy. True, I will be held up as a great scientific
achievement; many will want to study
me--I pray you will save me from that humiliation, Father.
"And what
of my offsprings, if any? Suppose they
are as talented as their father: What
will become of them? I don't want any
issue; it is just too painful to think
that they will live in a world which will always consider them as inconsistent
with their true natures and unfit to participate in the activities of the human
condition. And what of me? I am of no use except as an object of
scientific curiosity. Except for you,
Uncle and Sylvia, who else will treat me, or my offsprings, with the decency
and respect we rightly deserve because of our uniqueness? Not many, I'm sure." I was brutally honest and felt wretched as I
emptied my pent up spleen. "Uncle
told me animals don't need to be baptized because we are born without the
stigma of original sin and that made me think animals, whether they are dumb or
as brilliant as I am, are purer than any human--yet I can never be a model for
others to follow. What is my life,
then? Nothing more than a scientific
experiment that worked, a mauvais quart d'heure." I dropped my paws from his knees and wept the
bitterest tears ever (I'm convinced) by a conscious entity in the living
condition. (I hesitate to say the human
condition for obvious reasons).
Lost as I was
in my own lamentation, I did not see the tears flooding Father's eyes; it was only when he fell on his own knees
next to me and buried his face in my neck and wept as sorrowfully as I that I
became aware of his suffering. He hugged
me. "Tony, Tony, my son...I'm
sorry."
It was the
first time he ever called me "my son," and hearing those words rent
my heart and my tears flowed even more and I even howled mournfully, much I
imagine, as did my ancestors. My howls
brought Sylvia and Uncle Corrado running into my room; and when they saw us thus, two pitiful
creatures weeping, our state moved them.
They kept asking what was wrong, but neither Father nor I were capable
of speech. All four of us were on the
floor. Uncle was wringing his hands and
asking me in broken sentences of linked languages how he could help me. But I was so overcome with emotion I was
speechless. But in that weeping I kept
hearing Father's voice saying, "Tony, Tony, my son..." And every time I heard his voice my chest
heaved and my howls went out even louder, which eventually brought Betty
upstairs. I could hear a response to my
howls, for she, poor unaware beast, howled back in commiseration just because
she cold sense my pain and, I'm sure, Father's, too. I remember her licking me and giving me
nudges with her muzzle. She would lick
me, nudge me, then walk around in a circle as if confused, not knowing what to
do, then come back and lick me. I was
beginning, however, to quiet down. My
tears ebbed.
Sylvia had
Father in her arms and Uncle was rubbing my head and the back of my neck. Finally my body stopped trembling, but my
heart was pounding so loudly I feared it would burst. What I needed was some fresh air. I struggled to get up on all fours; I felt light-headed and was certain I would
fall; but I was determined to go
outside. Somehow I managed to get
through the door and was at the top of the stairs. I took one look at those steps, which I
usually had no difficulty negotiating, as if they were a precipitous
cliff. And as I stood on the landing I
heard a bark behind me: It was
Betty. She seemed to intuit my seeming
helplessness, and, clamping her teeth on the back of my neck, she started
walking down the stairs with me weakly in tow.
In a round about way that was how our courtship started.
The air was
cold and the moment I stepped through the dog door it was like a slap in the
face and I started. I breathed deeply
and my head cleared. I looked up into
the sky which was clear with winter stars standing out sharply, sparkling,
capturing my attention, and for a moment their sight helped me forget my deep
sorrows. Standing there, my neck craned
to the heavens, I thought how lovely it would be to be a distant, brilliant
star instead of a brilliant dog with an uncertain future.
I lay down and
Betty lay next to me. I turned to her:--
"Oh, you
don't know about me. You think I'm like
you, but I'm not. Do you know who Cicero
was, or, El Greco? Of course not. Did you know that Seleiman the Magnificent
had his son, Mustafa, killed because of the treachery of Kasseki Khurrem, his
favorite wife? No, you don't know that,
either--and I wish I didn't. You are
just an ignorant dog and when I was a puppy I was almost like you. But I had the potential for genius in my
DNA--oh, what am I saying? I
apologize. I don't mean anything by
saying you are an ignorant dog. No; you are an outstanding animal. Did you know we dogs are purer than humans
because we are born without original sin?
That should make us better than humans--but our unblemished souls don't
mean anything to humans--except for my Uncle.
He understands--and now maybe Father.
And Sylvia? I don't know. Did you know I picked you out from an encyclopedia
of dogs? Yes, I did. A picture bride, as humans would say. I even remember the page number--even the
paragraph and the position of the picture on the upper right hand side of the
page--oh, I have such a good memory. I
wonder if I could remember how to be a real dog? Betty, do you think you could teach me? I don't even know how to court you. Can you imagine? I have a mate and don't know what to do. Don't misunderstand me, I've seen dogs in the
neighborhood mount one another. But I'm
a little shy. Would you like to hear a
poem? Let me see...ah, yes: 'When as in silks my Julia goes/ Then, then
me thinks how sweetly flowes/That liquefaction of her clothes...'--no, no,
that's not for your kind--not for my kind, either. What kind am I? Who knows?
I don't know myself. I'm
saturated with human knowledge and notions and can't say truly I'm a dog. Oh, Betty, I've come to realize my life is a
farce, a farce, I tell you. A scientific
wonder which is meaningless. Does my
creation help humanity? No. My creation--in spite of my genius--isn't
worth tuppence. I can chase rabbits, but
I wouldn't know what to do with one when I'd caught it. I couldn't bring myself to kill it and eat
it. So even as a dog I'm useless. What good has my human education done
me? And now the whole house is
upset. Poor Father, I'll never get over
his sorrow. But one good thing came of
this, Betty: He called me son, yes, his
son. Do you know I have his DNA? Why DNA is used in courts of law to establish
paternity, which tells me most humans are irresponsible liars who won't even
admit to fathering a child. No; they deny it until the DNA is matched and the
evidence irrefutable. Humans...they are
to be pitied, Betty. You are better off
being a true dog. That's why I decided
not to mate with you: One of me is
enough, enough..."
I heard the
back door open and close. I did not turn
around. After a long pause, I heard
footsteps; they were Uncle's. He approached me and squatted and rubbed my
back, Betty's, too. I always liked that
and he knew it.
"The
stars are beautiful, Uncle."
"Yes,
they are. I was looking at them from the
porch. They remind me of all the
blessings in life--infinite blessings.
Why if we started enumerating our blessings in this life we would never
finish counting."
"And what
of the sorrows, Uncle?" I said in a low voice.
"Hmm, the
sorrows? Well, dear one, they are there,
too. But one should not dwell on them,
for often what may seem to be a sorrow may well be a blessing in
disguise."
"How can
that be?" I asked.
"It just
is. Everything in this life, Antonio, is
a blessing--even the sorrows. You may
think that's a contradiction--you have a sharp mind and in your present
circumstances it would seem so. But I
have lived a long time and I have seen much and experienced much and my life
has been (as I see it) the expression of one continuous blessing-including the
sorrows--starting even before I was born."
My curiosity
was aroused. "How can you say
that? Even before you were born. It's not logical."
"Oh, but
it is."
"Explain
yourself, Uncle."
"Why am I
alive? Because of my parents? No;
then because of my grandparents or my greatgrandparents and theirs? No. I
am alive because of everyone of my ancestors, including the first ones--whoever
they may have been--and beyond that, too.
I am also alive because of mysterious forces which humans know little
about, forces active before the creation--but let me return to ancestors. Had even one of my ancestors not had
children, I would not have been born.
That continuity is also a blessing.
I think I can safely say the same thing about your ancestors, too. You, unfortunately, have failed to
acknowledge or appreciate the many blessing you've received. The blessings of the ages are not only for
humans, Antonio.
"So you
see, life forces active before your birth (and mine) have caused all of us
being born the entities we are. You've
come this far, one blessing after the next, one sorrow after the next. But don't dwell on, or emphasize the
sorrows. Once they are over, they are
gone, but the blessing of life itself remains.
Be free, dear Nephew, of sorrows.
In your present situation the greatest blessing is that you are
surrounded by people who love you, and your sorrow can never be greater than
their love. Understand that. True, your
position is rather an awkward one, to say the least. Nevertheless, no one has ever mistreated you
and you have been given the best of everything.
I don't have to tell you how much Albert loves you. I think it is self-evident; and I know how much you love him, and it is
not good for people who love one another to be estranged. Go to him;
he wants to see you and to be reconciled with you. He understands your heart. He's a great scientist, but, he is, also, a
very warm, loving, humble man. This
evening has been just as hard on him as it has been on you--and I might
add--Sylvia and myself. Go.
Your father is waiting for you;
don't deny him, Antonio. He loves
you."
My Father
wanted me! And I was part of the cosmic
process of creation, not just a scientific wonder! For the first time in my life I had an
inkling of divine illumination. I jerked
my head. I breathed the cold, salubrious
air deeply into my lungs. I jumped up
and in a trice I was away--with Betty right behind me.
CHAPTER X
Father and I
stayed up all night talking. Even Betty
eventually lay down in front of the fireplace and went to sleep. But we two stayed up talking and what was
said made a deep impression on me.
Father told me that he had decided not to announce me to the world; instead, he would resign from the college and
retire to our farm in Gettysburg and write his memoirs. He was still young, only fifty-one and, he
said, it would take him a long time to write his memoirs, so he would have
plenty to do. He would also take up
gardening and live a simple life, maybe even study a musical instrument. "After all, I am a very rich man; those lottery checks and interest from my
investments keep coming in, so I can afford to retire."
As I listened
I knew that his decision had been made to protect me; but in all fairness to him, to the grandeur
of his scientific genius, I now had to make a decision myself. He was too valuable to rusticate himself on
the farm and write memoirs and grow potatoes and cabbages. And I felt very selfish and realized that my
pride had gotten in the way of the progress of science: That my very existence was purpose
enough; that I was not a useless entity,
but a vital participant in a great process stretching back to the cosmic
origins of my ancestors, DNA and to the very first scientific thought--whatever
that may have been. I told Father what
Uncle Corrado had said to me about blessings, ancestors and eternal connections
to the past and how I saw the deeper implications of Uncle's timeless
philosophy in relation to my own life and how I could be of service to humanity
by showing the world that the appropriate use of science and technology, e.g.,
my own creation, could be the first step
to help humanity climb out of its morass of egoism and reach, yes, for those
beautiful stars I had seen earlier and indeed make the world a better place.
Dawn had
overcome the night and we both became aware of the light outside. We walked to the east facing window and saw
the sun peeking up over the hills. He
put his arm on my neck and at that moment I felt closer to him than ever
before, and it was then that I told him he should not resign, not retire and to
proceed as planned: Announce my creation
to the world, and, further, I would couple with Betty and together we would see
if what he had wrought in me would pass over to the next generation.
There, it was
out. He turned to me. "Tony, do you really mean it, or are you
saying it just to make me feel good?"
"Father," I said, "I have never been more serious in my
life." He embraced me and said
something that touched me to the core:--
"Anthony Albert, if I could use my
science to change you into a human being by changing myself into a dog to
achieve your humanness, I would gladly trade places with you."
We were both
emotionally exhausted. He went to his
bed. I lingered for a while longer at
the window. Never had the sunrise seemed
more beautiful; never had any day in my
life seemed so important as did that new dawn.
I looked over to Betty still sleeping in front of the fireplace. I dropped down and joined her; and, closing my eyes and liking the warmth of
her body next to mine, I fell fast asleep.
Now, however,
as I write this, I realize that had I not changed my mind, life for all of us
would have been different and I would not be writing this.
CHAPTER XI
Betty and I
spent a lot of time together. I rather
liked her company. Having been raised
among humans, my experience with dogs was rather limited and I was beginning to
appreciate my own kind.
One day this
happend:--
We were listening
to some Chinese folk songs--or rather I was listening to them. As "The Old Fisherman," a favorite
of mine, played, and its languid, lilting melody and delicately sung phrasing
relaxed me, I stretched out my body; as
I went into this relaxing stretch with my mouth open in a deep yawn, my spine
started to tingle. Relaxed as I was,
lying on my side, the sensation I had felt now worked its way to my organs of
regeneration. All at once I started
having fantasies about Betty.
I got up on
all fours and shook myself. Without
exaggeration, I felt like a lion. I went
over to her and started licking her and sniffing her and whispering soft,
poetic words of endearment in between my affectionate licks. She jumped up and I sniffed her and she
sniffed me and we walked around in a little circle sniffing each other. With every sniff I became more and more
aroused.
My reserve,
dear reader, prevents me from becoming more graphic; nevertheless, I then proceeded to mount
Betty. Not once, but several times in
the course of several days, until one day she ran from me, avoiding me as much
as possible.
I consulted
one of my texts and read that what she was doing was common female dog
behavior. But now that eros had been
aroused in me, I was not satisfied; so
on my own I went cherchez la femme, as it were.
There were plenty about and all willing, to boot. I mounted as many as I could until I was
sated and sexually exhausted.
After a couple
of days of well-earned rest from this exhilarating adventure, I retired to my
room and began a study of ancient Semitic languages (I wanted to teach myself
ancient Punic) which I had been putting off for one reason or another. Weeks passed and my study of Punic was going
well and the progress I was making influenced Uncle Corrado, who joined me in
this study, too. Every day we would sit
with our books and study together which made the study pleasant and brought
back fond memories of my early lessons with Uncle. (Uncle and I still had "formal"
sessions together to discuss his directed readings which at that time was an
examination of Tomasso Campanella's "The City of the Sun," and
Bacon's "The New Atlantis").
It was while we were thusly engaged in our Punic lessons and regular
seminars that Father announced that Betty was gravid, and, by the vet's
calculations, would deliver in the first part of April. I was a bit shy when they all lifted their
glasses to me and my consort that very evening and offered up toasts to the
success of our union.
Were I capable
of blushing, I would have been red all over.
Father was particularly pleased.
I could tell when he was happy. I
could almost feel his happiness with my body;
he drank two glasses of champagne that night, something he rarely did.
Sylvia began
to puzzle me. I'd been sensing something
about her. She continued to be kind to
me and always made sure my gustatorial preferences were met, but there was a
change in her affection for me. I could
feel it. I let it pass, however--after
all, I was going to be a father.
The rumor,
however, of Mrs. Welch having fled our house in fright because she had
allegedly heard the family dog talking, had reached out to both campus and
community; but because Mrs. Welch was
also a well-known gossip herself, many scoffed at the rumor. But Herman Blauteufel finally got wind of the
rumor and he did not dismiss it, for Father received a letter from
"Bluedevil," saying since he had heard (he wrote) that "...your
mutt" (as he referred to my noble personage) "can speak, it should be
incumbent upon you to make public your work so that the world can judge whether
you have accomplished what the rumor purports, or, that you are a ventriloquist
who goes about frightening the hired help."
Father laughed; we all did at first; but after we had had our laugh we were all
silent for a long time. I broke our
silence with a humorous idea and said:
"Why don't I call him up and pretend I'm one of his students and
ask him a few questions, then bark a couple of times and hang up. Ha!
That ought to shake him up."
No, no; that wouldn't be nice, Tony," said
Father. "Even if he is an ass, we
must never do anything so puerile.
No; we shall bide our time. There's no hurry. Let him stew in uncertainty for a while
longer and when you have been introduced, we can challenge his chimp, Jezebel,
to a debate."
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Maybe I should study Esperanto and
add it to my storehouse of knowledge. I
shouldn't have any trouble memorizing an Esperanto Gettysburg Address. Uncle, do you know any Esperanto?" I
asked.
"No, I
don't. I have seen a few sample
paragraphs now and then and I understand what I'd read; it's a rather simple language and knowing
you, Antonio, it might take you two or three days to master it. Shall I go to the library and check out some
text books, Albert?"
"By all
means," said Father, "I want Tony to be as fluent in Esperanto as he
is in all his other languages. Dear me,
I rather like what we're cooking up; we
should have a lot of fun putting that nincompoop in his place."
"But
aren't you being a little spiteful?" offered Sylvia.
Father turned
to her: "Under normal circumstances
I would agree with you, my dear; but
since he is such an ass, he needs to be taught a lesson and I don't think this
is spite. On the contrary, Herman
Blauteufel is only going to get back all the arrogance, the ridicule, insults
and pomposity he's been shoving down people's throats for far too long. What he needs, most of all, is a good lesson
in humility."
"Here,
here!"I concurred, but I saw Sylvia frown, which frown did not sit well
with me and again I began having doubts about her.
Uncle and I
put aside our Punic lessons for a few days and plunged into Esperanto. What fun!
I was thrilled, for I was doing what I liked best: Learning living languages. Somewhere along the line of my mentations, I
concluded that I pursued the study of foreign languages with the same passion a
normal Vizsla would in finding game. So
perhaps all those natural instincts I thought had been bred out of me had,
after all, been transformed into intellectual pursuits. Nonetheless, Uncle's company and his equal
enthusiasm for the study kept us going for hours at a time; and it was only Father's insisting we put our
books down and eat that we stopped, otherwise, we would have gone without
eating, for we were so engrossed in our Esperanto lessons that hunger escaped
us.
When we had
mastered the Esperanto grammar and a large vocabulary, we translated several
short works for the folks and gave them a reading and recitation in the
parlor. Betty, of course, being
uneducated, could not appreciate what we had done; however, she was with us and I felt she
appreciated just being part of the family.
It was on that
particular evening that I realized I was (indeed) in love with Betty. But I could not tell her that with words and
that frustrated me, for I felt she needed to know I had true affection for her
and wanted, somehow, to make her understand she was more than an instrument of
sexual gratification and scientific study:
She was my wife, my mate, my companion for life. These are the sentiments my humanness gave
me. And they, too, frustrated me. I became sad.
Oh, I didn't mope about, I kept it pretty much to myself; however, I did approach Sylvia and told her
of my frustration about not being able to tell Betty I loved her. Sylvia's reply was curt and rather
unexpected: "Why do you ask
me? You are the genius. Canine romance is something I know nothing
about." Needless to say I was hurt.
I kept my own
counsel on this matter, and continued being kind to Betty. I would bring her to my room and we would lie
down and listen to music. There was a
remarkable thing about Betty: She liked
the Vivaldi choral work, "Dixit Dominus." After a few times of listening to it
(whenever we were in my room) she would go to the cassettes and, somehow, would
select it from the shelf and would carry it to me in her mouth and drop it in
front of me. She was an intelligent
beast, and she had good taste in music and I was thankful Father had selected a
good mate for me.
I shall never
forget the Sixth of April: Betty went
into labor on my Amish quilt and soon delivered four healthy pups: Two males and two females. I was elated,
ecstatic beyond all measure. The pups
were born in the late afternoon and we stayed up until very late celebrating
the births.
"Well," said Father, "let's not make the same error we did
when you were born, Tony. Since you are
the only one who should properly give your puppies names, I think it fitting
you give some thought to naming them."
But I was
well-prepared, for I had mulled over this same question myself and had prepared
a mental list of names, both male and female that I liked. Without hesitation I began the naming:--
"To the
male with the spot on its foot, I dub, Corrado, with your permission,
Uncle," said I, turning to him.
"Of
course. I'm honored," he said with
a big grin.
"And to
the second male, I give him the name of Jean Baptiste, because today is the
feast of St. Jean Baptiste de la Salle;
and the females, the one with the white streak, because she is so
beautiful, I shall call Nofretete, after the beautiful Egyptian queen; and the runt of the litter shall be called,
Helvia, after the mother of Cicero, whom Plutarch says came from a good family
and was a good woman."
"Fantastico!
Ausgezeichnet!" exclaimed Uncle Corrado. "Most excellent choices. And Nofretete, ah, Antonio, you have a good
eye, for truly, she was a great beauty.
I saw a likeness of her in the Berlin museum when I was there
last."
"Here,
here," called out Sylvia, "let us drink to the new Corrado, Jean Baptiste,
Nofretete and the good Helvia."
"Long
life and happiness," joined in Father, who beamed as would any proud
grandfather. (I, too, was beaming with
the pride of a paterfamilias, or should I say paterfamilias canis?).
A few days later Father began writing his
paper and I, staying close to the pups, spoke to them, waiting for them to
speak their first words. Uncle spoke to
them, Sylvia spoke to them. Since Betty,
obviously, could not teach them a "mother tongue," we took that task
upon ourselves. Father didn't want to
use tape recorded repetitions as he had used after my birth, for if my
intelligence had been carried over, their speech would come out without any
rote repetitions.
CHAPTER XII
President Ardath
had not forgotten Father's promise of making an important announcement in the
spring and he came calling one day as we were all outside enjoying one of the
first warm days of late May. Betty and
the pups were on the lawn; Uncle and I
were engaged in a sport I had come to like:
Catching a Frisbee. Father and
Sylvia were on the porch having a late morning coffee. It was a pleasant, lazy sunny Sunday
morning. Ardath drove up. When he stepped out of his car I was going
after the descending Frisbee not far from him.
His sudden and unexpected approach, however, made me lose speed and I
missed catching the Frisbee and, forgetting myself, I said,
"Damn!" But too late did I
recover, for he said:--
"Well
I'll be damned!" He hurried to get
to the porch always looking back at me and, because he wasn't looking where he
was going, he tripped over one of the pups who had waddled up to him and down
he went. He wasn't hurt, but he'd fallen
on his right knee and he was wearing a light-colored pair of pants which were
now smudged with the green from the lawn.
Father and Sylvia and Uncle all rushed to his aid; as they lent a hand in helping him up, Dr.
Ardath exclaimed, "Dear me, my new pants," and a tiny voice echoed,
"Dear me, my new pants." It
was Helvia, who bounded up the stairs disappearing into the house.
Father looked
at Sylvia; Sylvia stood stunned, her
mouth agape; Uncle clapped a hand over
his mouth and rolled his eyes. Dr.
Ardath searched the heavens with his eyes as if to find some answer, and I sat
a few feet away, the recovered Frisbee still in my mouth, not knowing what to
do; but one thing was certain: I was the proudest father in the whole state of
Pennsylvania.
The humans sat
on the porch in a long, tense, silence and I stayed near Betty and the pups. I
was tempted to speak to my "children," but I didn't want to upset
Father. There was, however, no need for
me to be cautious, because out of the house came Helvia, who stopped in front
of Dr. Ardath and started nibbling on the cuff of his trousers and in between
nibbles she kept saying, "Dear me, my new pants."
The cat, so to
speak, was out of the bag.
"Would
you like some coffee, Doctor?" asked Sylvia. And without hesitation he replied, "Yes,
and a good stiff drink if you've got one," with which he scooped up Helvia
and hugging her said: "I shall see
to it that you get a scholarship."
She squirmed and he let her go.
That seemed to
break the tension, for Father and Uncle burst into laughter, They went to each other and embraced.
Sylvia came
back with coffee, glasses and a decanter of brandy.
"I think
we could all use one," she said.
Again there
was a silence but it was now relaxed.
Dr. Ardath poured his large brandy into his coffee and, raising his cup
to Father said: "In my life I have
experienced many things which have left deep impressions on me; but today I have experienced the greatest
event in my entire life and you, Albert, are the genius behind this deepest of
impressions. I salute you, sir, and your
work; and, I am proud not only to have
you as a member of our distinguished faculty, but, also, as my friend. To you, sir, and your phenomenal
canines." He drank deeply, smacking
his lips and drank again.
"Thank
you, thank you, Edward; but I am not
alone in the project. You should turn
your cup to Tony. He is the true genius
of the project and the sire of the little darlings you see about you. Tony, come here, please." Father was always so polite.
I approached
very slowly and when I reached the porch I sat as erect as a soldier about to
be decorated for valor. Dr. Ardath
lifted his cup to me:--
"Tony, I
drink to your genius and to the genius of your master," and he drank down
the rest of his Cafe Royale.
"I'd
rather you not refer to me as Tony's master," said Father, "we don't
have that kind of relationship."
"Well,
then creator, generator--hang it all man, who cares? This is the greatest advancement in science
since..." he started to sputter. I
could see his face turning red; the
effects of the brandy were taking effect.
"Come now, Sir Tony," he said to me, "speak up. Say something." For the first time in my life, however, I was
lost for words--and for me that is truly something extraordinary.
"Don't be
shy, Tony. Dr. Ardath will protect our
confidentiality," said Father.
Still I could not speak. Uncle
Corrado saved me from further embarrassment.
"Dr.
Ardath, I remember you once telling me you had won a prize in your student days
in Latin. Ask Antonio something in
Latin."
"Hmm,
very well. He stroked his chin a couple
of times then asked: "Habitne
lingua Latina?" Do you speak Latin?
And I
answered, "Habeo," that is to say, Yes, I speak Latin. Dr. Ardath, who was still holding the cup
dropped it and it shattered.
I saw Sylvia
make a face, for it was one of her favorite cups. He jumped up from his seat and grabbed his
head with his hands and walking back and forth on the porch kept repeating:--
"Incredible! Incredible--but
it's true, it's true. The dog
understands. He speaks Latin! Maybe I'm dreaming this. Will I be able to remember this when I wake
up? Will I be able to remember?" he
said in a voice filled with great doubt.
I walked over
to Dr. Ardath and said to him in Latin:
"Annotationem tibi scribere debes," meaning, You ought to
write yourself a note.
My idea of
saying something amusing in response to his self-questioning words to demonstrate
my ability had the opposite effect. He
stopped in his tracks, let out a cry of pain, clutched at his heart and said,
in Latin, "Lingua est acrior quam gladius," which I translate as, The
tongue is sharper than the sword, then he passed out.
Luckily Father, who was also a physician,
took charge of poor Ardath, whom he knew was suffering from the too large
brandy and the shock of hearing me speak to him in Latin, a language, I might
add, I never thought I would use in my every day conversation.
Dr. Ardath lay
on the couch with a blanket over him and legs elevated; a cooling towel, also, on his brow. Father had taken his pulse and had listened
to his heart with his stethoscope and said he would soon come around, which he
did.
We spent the
rest of Dr. Ardath's visit in quiet conversation. Ardath, now composed, asked me many questions
and, with Uncle Corrado as my partner, we gave him a demonstration of my
foreign language ability. Dr. Ardath
also spoke passable French, and for a few minutes he spoke to me in
French. His grammar was fair, but lacked
the subjunctive. He had a wide
vocabulary, but his sentences had no flavor and his accent was bad.
"Edward,
you have been witness to a great event;
but equally as great is the fact that Tony passed on his genius to his
offsprings, and they have learned to speak, and rapidly so, the same way a
child does. You can see where this might
lead; so I cannot impress upon you
enough the need for your co-operation in keeping this quiet until I am fully
prepared to make this public."
"Yes,
Albert, quite. You can count on me. Of course--mums the word. But when shall you announce this marvel? We must plan beforehand. There must be protocols and security. Once this gets out we will inundated, not
only by the media, but by thousands of curiosity seekers. Why our campus will be trampled by millions
of feet, and we can't have that."
"No, we
can't, and I don't want that either.
That is why we must control every aspect of the announcement, otherwise
none of us will have a moment's peace. I
am now writing my paper. When it is
finished, I shall confer with you and then we shall send out press releases,
but we must do everything to protect Tony, Betty and the pups. That is most important."
"Absolutely, without a doubt.
Oh, Albert, I cannot tell you what this will mean for the college, why,
why we'll be the most famous school in the world, and you will be its most
famous teacher. My head reels with the
honors you will receive. Oh, I can't
believe this has happend, but it has, it has."
When Dr.
Ardath made ready to leave he walked over to me and extended his hand. I put my paw in it. He held it in a firm grip. "Tony, it is a great and honored
privilege for me to have been the very first person outside of this circle to
have been introduced to you. You are a
magnificent beast, absolutely magnificent.
I shall remember this day as long as I live. Au revoir, Tony. I imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other
from now on."
We walked him
to his car and he drove off. No sooner
was he gone than Father rushed to Betty and the pups. He hugged her and called her a divine mother
who would go down in history. He picked
up all the puppies at once, hugging them warmly, planting little kisses on
their noses. "I am the happiest man
in the whole world." I could see
tears welling up in his eyes. Oh, it was
a too, too touching scene.
CHAPTER XIII
I had got into
the habit of taking long, solitary walks in the morning. A few days after Dr. Ardath's visit, I
happend to be on one of my matinal strolls when I chanced to pass the house of
a faculty member, a certain Ernestine Gundersen, a professor of literature and
an expert on the Old Norse Edda. I often
regretted my status as a dog when I passed her house or saw her in the
neighborhood because I would have liked to have studied Old Norse with her,
with, of course, a concentration on the Edda itself. But how could I? Nevertheless, as I passed by her back yard I
saw her collie, a beautiful golden creature.
She was surrounded by three puppies, a common enough sight.
All of a
sudden, however, I was jolted out of my morning reverie, for I recalled that in
my first sexual outburst, when I had run about promiscuously, coupling with any
female I found willing, Dr. Gundersen's collie had been one of the first
females I had "seduced," after my initiation with my consort, Betty,
the mother of my four darlings. There
before me were (they had to be, for they looked a little like me) the
manifestations of my indiscretions!
Heaven help us! I stood there
shocked beyond description. If I had
impregnated the Gundersen collie, how many other females had I impregnated who
had since given birth or about to give birth?
Further, if my own had inherited my spectacular intellect, how many
other of my progeny were romping about who would soon be aping the speech of
their human caretakers? A shiver ran
down my spine. I ran as fast as I
could. When I was at the end of the
block I slowed to give this problem some thought. I tried to recall as many of my indiscreet
liaisons as I could. I clearly
remembered at least two stray females I had encountered and there was no way of
telling whether they had given birth, assuming, of course, my trysts had
impregnated them, but I'm sure they had.
By the time I
got back home I can say, without trying to be funny, that I literally had a
hangdog expression on my face, which expression did not go unnoticed by Father,
who asked me if I were not feeling well.
"May I speak to you privately?" I asked.
"Very
well, let's go to my study."
"Father,
I have something to say which may upset you and change everything."
"Why do
you say that, Tony? What happend?"
With complete
candor , I proceeded to tell him about my several couplings and, if I was
correct about the puppies in Dr. Gundersen's back yard, well... Father closed his eyes and shuddered.
"Oh, God,
Tony--how could you?"
"How
could I? How could I?" said I, with
controlled indignation. "After all,
I am a dog, Father, and is it not a dog's nature to do just as I have done? I am not a celibate monk. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Now,
now, Tony, this is not the time for one of your quips. This is a very serious problem; and, for the life of me, I don't know what's
to be done about it. I must talk to
Corrado and Sylvia."
I was suddenly
struck by his statement: "...one of
your quips." Indeed. I have a very
serious and noble character, and my thoughts and language reflect that serious
and noble character. I do not quip. I was about to become indignant, but I stayed
my indignation and returned to the problem at hand, pushed away my own feelings
for the sake of the crisis and said:--
"Shouldn't you, also, tell President Ardath?"
"I'm
afraid I'll have to. My, my, Tony, this
is...it's...well, I'm flabbergasted. If,
as you say, you can remember at least six females in the faculty housing area,
and assuming they were all fertilized and had at least four puppies each, that
means twenty-four--not counting the
strays, and who knows how many others you can't remember; and if half of them are males, which means
twelve, and in a couple of years they become sexually active, and assuming you
have also transmitted your intellect to each puppy and assuming your male and
female offsprings also pass on your talents..." Father gasped for air as one who has been
underwater for a long time; and when he
exhaled he shouted:--
"Sylvia,
Corrado! For God's sake, come
here!"
In a trice
they were in the study. Father was pale
and he was holding on to the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles
turned white. Sylvia immediately thought
the worst.
"Corrado,
quickly, call nine-one-one!"
"No,
no. I don't need an ambulance. Oh, what a calamity, what a blow to my
work."
"What on
earth has happend?" asked Sylvia excitedly.
"Sit
down, sit down, both of you and get ready for a shock."
Father
repeated what I had told him and he repeated his rough calculations which
Sylvia heard with absolute horror on her face and, standing up and facing me,
she screamed out at me in a terribly rebuking voice, "Tony, how could
you!?"
Never, never
had she ever raised her voice to me (or for that matter had anyone else) and I
was shocked to my very marrow. For a
moment I was so dazed by her unexpected outburst that I was frozen both in body
and mind. My delicate nervous system was
wounded by the force of her rebuke. (I
guess Father hadn't realized just how sensitive a being he had created). I was unaccustomed to such treatment,
especially by someone whom I loved, admired, respected; one whom I'd considered friend, teacher; one almost like a step-mother to me.
How could I
they asked? What presumption! I was aghast.
How could I? Well, I am a
sentient, passionate being--even if I am a dog.
My ancestors survived millennia because they had coupled. The same could be said of all
species--including humans. So why was I
being singled out? I used to hear the
squeals and moans of love making coming from their bedroom. I have keen ears. However, I gainsay no one his or her sexual
drives.
Being abused
and castigated for my nature did not sit well with me. What about her own nature and what about the
insatiable human sexual appetite? I said
nothing, keeping my indignation in check like a dutiful, obedient son--ate this
bitter crow for the sake of peace in the family.
In a flash of
insight, however, I saw and understood an aspect of Sylvia, an hithertofore
unseen darker, duplicitous side of her character which my unconditional love
for her had failed, or, refused to see.
Now my earlier suspicions about her having changed toward me were
confirmed. It was not so much that she
had changed. No; I was seeing her with a newly awakened
awareness of what she had always been. I
could not now trust her and that did not sit well with me, for it is my deeper
nature to love unconditionally.
Sylvia's
outburst brought Betty with the "children" right behind her. When Betty saw me sitting, frozen,
statue-like, her natural affections and instincts told her something was wrong
with me and she started to bark and her barking, surprisingly enough, was
directed at Sylvia. Betty, too, felt the
unspoken hostility emanating from Sylvia.
"How dare
you!" screamed Sylvia at Betty.
"Get out! she ordered sharply, "and take those little monsters
with you!" Her face was red. She waved her arms as if to shoo Betty and
the puppies out. Betty, being the
ever-protective mother, crouched and growled, en garde, in front of the pups
ready to fend off the presumed attacker.
Uncle Corrado
saw what was happening and saved the day by taking Sylvia by the arm and almost
dragged her out of the study, closing the door behind them.
Father was
hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head. "Woe, woe, woe," is all he said.
As he sat
there in his lamentations, I felt my indignation rising up again. How dare she refer to my darlings as
"...little monsters..." I was
now fighting mad and I wanted satisfaction.
"Father,
I insist you open the door and let me out.
I have something to say to Sylvia."
He only took his hands away from his face, which revealed a look so
alien, so unlike him that I could barely recognize him. He was in pain, for his face was contorted
and his eyes wide open, but those eyes had lost their usual sparkle. I was puzzled and again checked my
indignation, turning now to concern for my dear Father, for whom I feared.
"Father,
are you not well?" I asked solicitously;
but he seemed not to hear my voice.
I called out:--
"Uncle
Corrado, come quickly! Something is wrong
with Father!" I had to shout
several times, for apparently Uncle was not close by. My projective, baritone voice, however,
finally reached him and he came as quickly as possible.
Betty, in the
meanwhile, had gathered up the puppies and was protecting them with her body
behind Father's large desk.
Uncle took one
look at Father and called out to Sylvia who was not far away. When she espied Father's most unnatural
pallor, she screamed and fainted on the spot.
Uncle Corrado heard her fall and turned around with a perplexed look on
his face, for he did not know whom to aid first.
"You see
to Father, I'll take care of Sylvia," said I. I went to her and nudged her shoulder with my
front paw. I put my ear to her
mouth; at least she was breathing. Then I did something I had never done
before: I licked her face. And I did it so naturally, not even giving a
moment's thought to what I was
doing. I concluded that my canine
instincts had not been eradicated after all.
I would have liked to have thought on that for a while, but the business
at hand was most pressing.
After a few
licks she opened her eyes just as I was about to give her another swipe. When she realized what I had done, she said
in a low, raspy, menacing, clenched-teeth voice:--
"Get away
from me. Stay away from me," with
which she took her hand and wiped her cheek, moist from my saliva, as if to rub
off something dirty, and she made a spitting noise, "Pfew,"
repeatedly, as if to spit something bitter out of her mouth--although I had not
touched her mouth. I took no offense,
however, for my conclusions abut her had already been confirmed: She was my enemy--the enemy, too, of my
family.
I returned to
Father, whom Uncle was helping out of his chair and gently guiding to the
couch. I could hear Father mumbling,
"I'm ruined. I'm ruined...all my
work in vain, in vain...Tony, Tony...Anthony Albert...his offsprings...my God,
what have I done..?"
My heart was
broken by his words. "Is it unnatural
for a dog to be a dog?" I asked
myself. But I held my thought and stayed
the urge to scream it out loudly. By now
all I wanted to do was get out of that room and take my family with me.
We, the canine
branch of the D'Augusta family, exited the dog door and assembled in the back
yard.
"What is
all the noise and fuss about, Father?" asked sweet Jean Baptiste.
"I'll
explain later, Jean. Go and play,"
I responded. The puppies had learned how
to speak at an accelerated pace; they
were not only born with all of my superior abilities, but were able to use them
sooner than I had. I was proud and
protective of them--and their Pharoanic mother, Betty, but I was now beginning
to feel threatened by forces just starting to come into focus. The threat against me, however, I knew, would
also be directed to my kin and kind. I
was beginning to feel like a character in the theater of the absurd.
We heard a
siren. I tensed. Closer came the wail, and, simultaneously, I
recalled the lesson on the Dopple effect which I'd learned from Father during
my early days. I say this to show how my
mind works: I can be in the most
difficult circumstances and, at the same time, I can become highly curious
about a phenomenon and want to "stop the action," so to speak, to
further investigate or think upon some observation or confirmation of a law of
physics or a demonstration of human behavior and consciousness, or some other
tangential curiosity of the moment.
The siren
stopped wailing in front of our house!
Without hesitation, I vaulted the fence:
An ambulance was in our driveway.
I watched in trepidation as two paramedics unlimbered a gurney.
Uncle stood at
the open door. I followed them in. When, however, I tried to enter the study,
Sylvia shut the door in my face.
Nevertheless, I stood sentinel-like outside.
A few minutes
later the study door opened and I was able to see inside: Father had on an oxygen mask and he was being
wheeled out on the gurney. When they opened
the front door, I ran out to the ambulance.
As they put the gurney into it, one of the paramedics said to me:--
"No, boy,
stay. You can't come with us." I know he meant well; he thought he was just being kind to a dumb
animal. Be that as it may, I was in no
fit state of mind for patronization from anyone and I said to him, in as loud
and as rude a voice as I could, "Drop dead, buddy!"
It was
completely out of character for me to have been so rude and vulgar. Turning, I re-vaulted the fence to join my
own kind. This outburst of mine was to
have its consequences, which I shall treat of in proper order.
I had never
been so rude to anyone and when I landed in the back yard I felt positively
wretched for my rudeness. Under other
circumstances I would have returned and apologized; the circumstances, however, were not
normal. Moreover, how would a dog's
apology have been received?
Moments later
I heard the familiar sound of our family car starting and heard, also, my name
being called. I jumped the fence. Uncle was at the wheel. When he saw me he rolled down the window all
the way and said to me in Chinese:--
"He's
being taken to the campus hospital. Stay
by the phone. I'll call you when I hear
something." For a moment I couldn't
understand why he was speaking to me in Chinese; but it became clear to me when I saw Sylvia
in the passenger's seat, and he did not want her to understand what he was
saying to me.
I found myself
in a most peculiar situation because of my status, and I didn't like it one
bit. Why should I not be able to
accompany my father to the hospital, too?
I was an intimate, integral member of the family, but because of
limiting, human, social conventions, I was excluded from participating as a
family member. Again was it brought home
to me just where I stood in the weave of the human web.
CHAPTER XIV
I sat by the
phone for the longest time. I was both
agitated and worried. When at last the
phone rang, I was quick to pick up the receiver with my mouth and, putting it
at mouth-ear level for me on the telephone table, I closed my ear to it.
"Antonio,
are you there?" It was Uncle. "Yes.
How's Father?" I asked.
"He's
ok; don't worry. He's had a great shock. The doctor will keep him here under
observation for a few days. Sylvia wants
to stay with him so I'm coming back to pick up a few things for her, then,
return and stay with you. Antonio,
please, I understand your heart, and I beg of you: Don't do anything rash. Be patient.
It's not the end of the world."
"That's
easy for you to say. However, I am now
persona non grata in my own home--and you know it." My bitterness did not go unnoticed by Uncle
Corrado, who is a very perceptive man.
"Not
exactly non grata. Sylvia was telling me
how badly she feels she was unkind to you.
Be the forgiving and gentle soul I know you to be. This situation will be resolved and things
will be normal again."
"Normal? Things can never be
normal because I'm not normal! I'm a
freak and so are the puppies--all thirty or more of them! Normal?
What's so normal about what I am?"
"You are
very upset and you have a right to be; I
counsel you to be prudent, that's all. I
commiserate with your bitterness, but it will pass. Antonio, be patient; don't be angry. Now let me hang up. The sooner I deliver her things, the sooner I
can be with you and we can talk at length.
And, Antonio, if the phone rings, don't answer it. Goodbye."
When Uncle returned the first time to pick up
Sylvia's things, he stayed a few minutes and tried to console me. (He was so good to me and I can never repay
him for the gentle quality of his gracious solicitude). When he returned the second time, he threw
himself into a chair and let out a whistled, "Whew, I didn't think I'd
ever get back. There was a dreadful
traffic jam near the hospital. But now
that I'm back, we can talk."
"I'm not
sure what there is to talk about. I'm
unjustly maligned, my consort is abused, my puppies are screamed at--called
monsters, and Sylvia shut the door in my face when the paramedics entered the
study. She hates me, and I don't trust
her. Moreover, Uncle, it occurred to me
that I have no civil rights."
"No civil
rights? What on earth are you talking
about, Antonio?"
"Civil
rights--clear and simple. I have no
recourse to the law. My person is
subject to verbal and physical abuse and there is nothing I can do about
it."
"Why are
you saying these things?"
"Because
if anything happens to Father, I shall be blamed and Sylvia can do what she
pleases with me--and the pups--and Betty.
You forget, Uncle: We are like
chattel."
"Stop
being paranoid. You have nothing to
fear. Albert is fine. A few days rest and he'll be fit as a
fiddle. As to Sylvia, she's
repentant. I told you. She's sorry she acted the way she did. We've all been under a strain. Don't create situations that don't
exist."
I trusted
Uncle. He was always deliberative and
had a much better understanding of human relations than I. "Very well, I said, after some
reflection, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt; nonetheless, I need your protection, and I'd
like to go over some contingency plans with you."
"What
for?"
"For the
preservation of my family and myself. I
want you to promise me two things: One,
if this situation worsens, you will take all of us away with you. I'd like to have us live with you, and, two,
should anything happen to me, you will be guardian for my little darlings and
Betty and see to it that they are well taken care of."
"Antonio,
Antonio, nothing is going to happen."
"Promise
me, Uncle. Just give me your word. I'm not asking for anything else."
"Very
well, if you would have it so; but I
don't think it necessary. Nonetheless,
you have my word. Now, do you feel
better?"
"About
the puppies and Betty, yes; about
myself, no. I've done a lot of growing
up these past few hours, Uncle. I've
been living in a fool's paradise. I have
a superintellect, but I'm naive. I'm a
dog, a Vizsla, I walk on four feet. Even
if I trained myself to walk upright, wore pants and sported a hat and mingled
in sophisticated circles, I'd still be a dog. Perhaps I would have been better off as a dog
who barked when strangers passed and chased cats and lifted its leg at every
pillar and post and fireplug. The last
time I went through a crisis of identification, I talked myself into
maintaining my status quo--but not anymore.
The last time I said I wanted to withdraw from the world; this time I mean it. I just want to be left alone, and I don't
want the pups to be educated. They
already talk; I can't help that; but they don't have to learn how to read. They should be chasing butterflies and living
the kind of life nature intended them to live and not in the artificial amalgam
of half Homo sapiens and half Canis canis.
"There's
going to be a big change around here and I will be adamant, and, I will not
negotiate. It shall be my way or
nothing. I would rather fight than have
to continue being subjected to this roller coaster existence of living in two
worlds and living in neither of them.
It's unnatural."
On the outside
I may have seemed a stalwart heart standing fast against fearsome odds; yet deep down inside I was grievously hurt by
two people I loved; and even if Sylvia
was sorry, I would not accept her apology.
Yes, we were beasts, but we had had no hand in our genetic engineering,
causing our human nervous system and consciousness--and to have called my
darlings "monsters," well, it was not within my mixed ethos to be so
forgiving. I was still smarting from
Father and Sylvia's narrow, uncalled-for, moralistic, sexual criticism of my
actions by raking me over the
coals with their: 'How could you?' What odd, convoluted sentiments. It came home even clearer to me how humans
tried to regulate feelings as if feelings were fixed, mechanical
processes. I knew about lots of human
hanky-panky. Unbeknowst to many, I was
privy to the gossip and rumors of the faculty club and the college staff. I knew about their human promiscuity: Who was sleeping with whom in our rarified,
ivory tower environment. I knew about
the scandal involving the Chairman of the Music Department and a female
student--which the adminstration had tried to cover up: He had impregnated her. But did anyone say to him: "How dare you?" No. I
also knew about the liaisons of the young students who went behind the library
at night to have sex behind the bushes and trees like animals in heat! But did I ever say anything, did I condemn or
judge? No; because I understand the human sex urge (and
that of dogs) and I am a tolerant, accepting entity who never passed judgement
on the sexual behavior of humans.
However, I was now ready to denounce the whole human race for its
hypocrisy and artificial prudery. Beasts
were far more honest about their sexual drive while humans tried to deny
it. (No wonder there are so many
neurotics and so much deviant behavior).
CHAPTER XV
The night
passed. I'd slept very little. In the morning, after Uncle had fed us, he
called the hospital and spoke to Sylvia, who said Father was better; he was eating and walking around, and she
stated, he was over his shock, but was still a bit disoriented and would take
sick leave on the doctor's advice.
It was,
nonetheless, a sad day for me in spite of the news of Father's
improvement. I told Uncle I wanted to go
for a walk by myself, so he let me out.
I had it in mind not only to walk about but, also, to see what (if any)
further evidence of my pullulations I could find. I remembered a large poodle at the end of the
faculty housing area with whom I'd had a delightful encounter, and I took my
walk in that direction.
The house was
off by itself; the carport was
empty; that was a good sign, and, a
window had been left open. I put my
front legs up on the sill and looked in.
I saw nothing, heard nothing. Shortly,
however, I heard a bark and the familiar sound of scratchy running on hardwood
floors. In came the poodle followed by
four puppies who, on first sight, looked a little like me! I groaned.
The mother poodle barked at me a few times then came herself to the
window and sniffed me. In her sniffing
she must have remembered me and sensed I was no threat. She stood down from the window and lay down
by her puppies.
I observed
this homey scene for a few moments. If
her pups, too, had inherited my intelligence surely they could understand
speech and respond to it. I called out
to them. "Hello. How are you?" They all looked up at once and came
scampering up to under the window trying to jump up to it; but it was too high. The one who could jump the highest managed to
get its paws on the sill and for a moment dangle, not for long, but long enough
for him to open his mouth and say:
"Buenas dias. Me llamo
Martin. Como se llama?" (Good day.
My name is Martin. What's your
name?). Upon my word, little Martin was
speaking Spanish! I responded: "Me llamo Antonio. Adios, hijito." (My name is Anthony. Goodbye, son).
That was all I
needed to know. I went to the mailbox
and saw the occupant's name on the box:
Baltasar Marquez. I knew the
name, for I had seen it in my perusal of the college catalogue. Senor Marquez was a professor in the World
Literature Department.
My gene
carry-over was powerful and I went away shaking my head, and, at the same time,
marveling at my Father's genius. All at
once I stopped. A tremendous feeling of
profound admiration for Father came over me, followed by waves of affection and
esteem for the great leap forward he had made with his science. I had always taken my existence for
granted; but in those arrested moments,
as I stood on the sidewalk, the realization of what I was, was crystal
clear. I soared in a moment of epiphany,
a zen insight into the nature of myself.
In an instant
of realization I knew that what had happend in my personal life was
insignificant and not so tragic after all, but only a side show, preparatory to
regenerating the human race! I had to go
beyond my little world; it was incumbent
on me to transcend the insults I had received, for there was something in
Father's work, a greater good: The
possibility to create humans with universal love and compassion. Father could generate one hundred and one
Buddhas and Christs, hundreds of varieties of unstained beings with superior
intelligence, virtue and unending goodness.
He could create hearts with peace, wholesomeness. There would be no more greed, hate or
war! I was intoxicated as is a man with
a revealed cause. I became (so to speak)
a neo-genetic missionary, zealously so.
It was so simple and good. I
wanted to shout to the world that its tribulations were over. I wanted to tell the world it didn't have to
be petty or aggressive, didn't have to be jealous, spiteful, afraid or
covetous.
A new order
was on its way, and my Father, my genius creator, would become the savior of
humanity! Rushing home, I found Uncle
tossing a small ball in the back yard with my darlings. I scared him half to death because I appeared
so suddenly by leaping over the fence. I
was flying!
I landed in
front of him. When I caught my breath I
told him of my revelation. At first his
face was intent, and he listened with one hand cocked over his left ear. Then he smiled.
"Antonio,
we had a similar talk once before on this subject. Have you forgotten what I said, then?"
"No, I've
not forgotten. You said that 'some fiend
would create an army of monsters capable of the most heinous acts...' Your very words, Uncle."
He smiled
again. "Your memory is
fantastic. Yes, yes, yes--that's what I
said and I still stand by it."
"But not
if Father started now, and in secret," I said, lowering my voice to a
conspiratorial level. "Consider, if
you will, my own talent, and I've sired many who now have my intellect--and, by
the way, Professor Marquez's poodle has four puppies--mine. I met them this morning. I spoke to one, Martin; he speaks Spanish. So you see, Uncle, if I am able to pass on my
brains, that same inheritance can be passed on to humans. Father needs to create humans,not dogs. His intentions are good, it is his direction
and goals which need to be changed. His
research and work are exquisite, his ends, a dog, are not. I might remind you what the poet said about
the proper study of mankind: It is man,
not dogkind, Uncle. Father could create
two thousand ova in vitrio: One thousand
males and one thousand females, and upon maturity they could have as many
children as possible and in a few generations this new breed of human would be
a great influence and the world would be different. We could buy a large tract of land out west,
remote, and twenty years or so hence, integrate these sublime creations into
the mass. Can't you see it, Uncle
Corrado? The world would be
renewed!"
Caught up as I
was in my altruistic, utopian dream, I jumped up and down and ran around the
yard shouting: "A new world order
of peace and gentleness! No more war or
aggression!" And I believed what I
was saying.
Then I heard
Uncle's voice:--
"Antonio,
stop it!" His voice was commanding
and carried authority. "Come here
and listen to me."
Abruptly I
stopped and went to him. He kneeled down
to eye level, as he always tried to do when possible. (He was always most humble, discerning and
tactful).
"You are
a dreamer--that can't be helped--so am I, so is Albert. He dreamed you. But if he did as you've suggested, half the
world would be against him. Right now he
only has academic enemies. If he did
what you propose, he would have enemies all over this planet! He would have to be surround by guards day
and night. Ausgescholssen! Out of the question."
But why,
Uncle, why? He would be trying to
ameliorate the tragedy of the human condition.
The whole world would be changed.
Why would he have world enemies?
It just doesn't make sense."
"In the
first place, the world doesn't want to be changed; and believe me, it has had ample
opportunity. In the second place, by the
very act of inseminating so many, he would be accused of trying to take over
the world. There would be groups of all
kinds of crackpots, orthodoxies and fundamentalists waving their scriptures
saying he was breaking the laws of God, or, trying to become a god
himself. They would try to destroy him! And not only him, but all those he created and
their babies. Let us suppose, for a
moment, Antonio, that thousands of these glorious and immaculate births took
place. I'm sure you remember the
Slaughter of the Innocents; we read it
together. It would happen again, dear
Antonio. Your Father's creations would
be as sheep surrounded by wolves and the wolves would not be satisfied until
the last sheep was killed. You don't
fully comprehend the treachery of human beings or their deceit. Do you think people--especially those in
power--want goodness? No. Do you think bankers, militarists,
industrialists and brokers want people with high intellects, people who are
kind, gentle and non-competitive?
Absolutely not. The markets and
wars of the world thrive on competition and nothing else, and heads of state
thrive on the ignorance of the masses so that they can be easily lied to and
duped and manipulated through propaganda and the jingoism of nationalism or
fanatical, religious self-righteousness.
That, Antonio, is the ugly reality of the human condition. Your altruism is commendable, but
impossible. In addition, there are
cosmic factors to consider--and they may be so subtle that in the process of
creating man-made humans something would be missed. Then what?
Perhaps those subtle, cosmic factors are missing in you, but we shall
never know. I don't like to take the
wind out of your sails, but even if Albert created ten thousand Christs, then
we would have ten thousand new crucifixions."
Uncle let out
a sigh, closed his eyes and lowered his head.
I felt defeated, for I had convinced myself humanity could be saved, and
I thought I could, also, reunite our divided house. Once again I was learning a lesson about humans.
CHAPTER XVI
A few days
later Father came home and went directly to bed. I was at the door eager to greet him when he
and Sylvia walked in. Seeing me, he gave
me a weak smile but said nothing. Sylvia,
however, did speak to me saying that as soon as she had Father settled she
wanted to talk to me and would I give her a few minutes of my time. She was too polite. Her politeness reeked of a sinister
obsequiousness which put me even more on my guard. I could hardly refuse her, though. I'm not one to be rude. Anyway, I had a few things I wanted to say to
her; however, I added, I wanted Uncle to
be in attendance at the discussion. She
raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips at this, but agreed, nonetheless.
I had a
foreboding and I asked Uncle to shut up Betty and the pups in my room. He went along with me, but I sensed he
thought I was being overly cautious. I
am glad I had that premonition, for had Betty been at my side, I shudder at
what she might have done--considering the events of that tragic afternoon, which
events I shall soon relate.
I waited with
Uncle in Father's study. I felt a
certain sense of security therein, surrounded by his books, papers, his sweater
draped over the back of his chair, all the things which reminded me of him from
which I took strength.
Uncle sat with
the tips of his fingers together tapping them in rhythm as he hummed an aria
from Mozart's "The Magic Flute."
At the moment, however, I didn't want to hear it. But I knew he liked to hum when he was tense,
so I said nothing. Instead, I jumped up
onto Father's chair and stared down at his papers. I wasn't focused on any one paper in
particular, when I saw my name jump out at me from one of the handwritten
sheets, it being a draft, I discovered, in memo form, from Father to a K.L.
Weaver, Esq., an attorney. Scrutinizing
it I saw Father was asking for a codicil to his will and the penciled codicil
read that upon Father's demise (or incapacitation) "...the dog called
Anthony, his mate, Betty and their four puppies, Jean Baptiste, Helvia,
Nofretete and Corrado, to receive the sum of $1,000,000.00 for their care so
long as they shall live, said behest to be held in trust for them by my cousin,
Corrado Graziotti, Ph. D., and physical custody to be given to Dr. Graziotti,
and that my wife, Sylvia D'Augusta nee Titus, shall have no say in their
custody nor in the money held in trust for them by Dr. Graziotti..." The handwritten codicil went on: "...and that all papers, notes, journals
and other materials in sealed boxes marked CANIS MAJORIS, be handed over to Dr.
Graziotti and to be used or disposed of as he sees fit." There were a few other entries about his
personal affects which did not appertain to me or mine.
I literally
had my breath taken away by this revelation, for I saw the date of this draft
codicil which was just a few weeks old.
So he had been thinking of our future.
My heart melted. As a being of
conscience, I felt terrible. Poor
Father. I truly loved him; but I could also see that my existence was
causing him a lot of trouble--it was even affecting his health. And I had my own cano-humano troubles,
too. It was no picnic being a dog
intimately attached to the human condition through consciousness, language, culture
and DNA. Being a dog with human
consciousness is not ideal. Time and much
reflection on my own experiences in this matter have clearly shown me the
absurdity of such a transformation. It
knocks the natural order of things out of balance and misdirects talents and
energies better suited toward other ends.
Some would argue otherwise, putting forth all kinds of counterarguments
about the benefits of science and progress;
but since I am the one who has lived this cruel duality, no one can know
a dog's life--except the dog.
Sylvia walked
in without knocking, saying Father was napping and added he wanted to see me
when he woke up. I could see that she
was uneasy; she fidgeted in her seat and
began to talk about how considerate the staff at the hospital had been. I knew she was only using this small talk as
a conventional prelude to get her to the point and purpose of this
meeting. At long last she came to her
agenda:-
"Tony,
first I want to apologize for having raised my voice and being mean to
you; but, please, you must understand
how confused I was when I came upon Albert after you called for help and then
my fainting. I am embarrassed at my
bemusement. Will you accept my
apology?"
In spite of
her well-acted ploy, I could detect the insincerity of her voice; but for the sake of peace, and against my
better judgement, I accepted her apology with a nod of my head and a soft,
"Very well," and waited for her to continue.
"Albert
and I had a long talk while he was in the hospital and...and...well...we had a
long talk after which we thought that perhaps it would be better for all of us
if you and the puppies were...how shall we say it: Surgically modified. We have a behavior problem which has gotten
out of hand. Already there has been a report to the police. And then there's the promiscuity issue--and
we know all about that," (she said rather smugly). "And this
proliferation of unwanted offsprings--well, we don't know where that will lead
to. And what if you and Betty decide to have more puppies ? There, you see, we talked about this--and
believe me, it was not an easy decision to come to. After all, we are just like a family in some
ways." And then her face took on an
eerie relief as she pronounced: "And since it is impossible to go on living this way, we have decided, in
the best interests of all concerned that you, Tony, and the puppies, will be
lobotomized. Surely, Tony, you can
understand and appreciate our concerns and our need to terminate the conditions
now existing. You will not suffer, I
assure you."
My ears perked
up, my hair stood on end, my heart began to pound and I saw Uncle jump out of
his chair. "What did you say,
Sylvia?"
"We
thought it best if he and the puppies were surgically modified..."
She was going
to continue, but she never got a chance to finish whatever else she was going
to say, for Uncle screamed:--
"Vile! Blasphemy! Vile!
Cowardly! How dare you! How dare Albert! I can't believe he would consent to such a
thing. You must have taken advantage of
his debilitation. Absolutely not! I won't stand by and let such a monstrous
thing happen to Antonio and certainly not to the puppies. I shall oppose it even if I have to go to the
law. Do you hear me? To the law!"
I'd never seen
Uncle so livid. His face was red and he
was gesticulating wildly. I felt as if
bludgeoned; in spite of my command of
languages, I could utter not a word, such was the depth of my shock. But I also knew deep in my heart that Father
would never have consented to such a criminal act if he had not been talked
into it by Sylvia while he was sedated, vulnerable and certainly in no fit
condition to argue it one way or the other.
Suddenly I found my tongue:--
"I am
outraged at such a suggestion! I give
you fair warning, Sylvia: I shall use whatever
means at my disposal to thwart your evil intentions--even the use of force if
necessary." Here I bared my teeth
and growled just to give her a scare and to add emphasis to my words. "Henceforth," I continued,"I
shall accept neither food nor drink from your hands, nor shall I allow you to
go near my puppies. Foul, foul, oh--I
never would have imagined such a thing from my nurturers. You, you...you beast!" I shouted and let out howls of torment heard
all over the house, for in a few moments not only was Betty howling in response
to my ullulations (I could hear her howls coming from my room) but, also,
Father had heard and had come downstairs to investigate the clamor and walked
in.
"Darling," said Sylvia, "what are you doing up? You know the doctor said you were to
rest. Let me help you back to
bed." As she made to get up, Uncle
went to her, pushed her back down and said:--
"No. Not back to bed. Albert, excuse me if I take advantage of you
in your weakened state, but there is something wicked afoot, wicked, I say and
there must be a stop to it--a stop! Do you hear me? A stop!
Sit, sit, by all means; here, let
me help you."
Docilely he
was helped and when he was settled down, and with Uncle pacing up and down and
Sylvia sitting very erect with a grim expression on her face, Uncle began to
talk to Father:--
"When you
were in the hospital, Antonio and I had a talk and at the end of our talk he
made me promise to be his protector. His
request has turned out to be prophetic.
I now assume that role." (I
was proud of Uncle for being so heroic that had I been able, I would have
embraced him; but the situation did not
allow for such an outburst).
"At first
I didn't see any point to his request, but now I do. You, dear Cousin, owe me an explanation--owe
one, also, to Antonio. After all, didn't
you say he was like a son to you?"
Sylvia cringed.
"You did
say that, Albert, and now you want to lobotomize--surgically modify him--as
Sylvia put it so euphemistically, and, also, your grandchildren! By what right do you now take it upon
yourself to destroy his great intellect and that of his offsprings? Explain yourself, Albert. We are waiting."
Sylvia burst
out: "Tony is not his son and those
dogs are not his grandchildren! And stop referring to them as such--they are
our property, and we may dispose of our property as we see fit, Corrado." Her voice was tight and filled with
self-righteousness.
"I was
speaking to Albert, Sylvia. He is quite
capable of speaking. I beg you to be
silent." He scowled at her and I
could tell she was afraid of him.
Father
grimaced; he was in pain and seemed
bewildered, and I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Nonetheless, I waited.
"If only
I can make you understand," he began, "if you will only give me a
chance to explain. You see, if I go on
as planned with Dr. Ardath, I will never have a moment's peace. You can see that I am not in good health,
Cousin. I will be hounded by the press,
the scientific community and, I'm sure, by the government. Tony and the pups will be subjected to all
sorts of questions and scrutiny;
moreover, Sylvia and I have decided, after all, to retire. But how could we retire in peace if I am so
much in the news?"
"Rubbish! Balderdash! Weak and unacceptable; a lot of drivel. What has that to do with a lobotomy? How does any of what you've said justify this
disgusting and diabolic plan of yours?
Your justification is irrational and contrived. You'll have to do better than that,
Albert."
"I'm not
well, Corrado. Maybe I'm not being clear
enough. Let me tell you another
way: When Tony told me about the pups he
had sired in the community, I knew my experiment had been compromised and was over,
for now anyone who had one of his offsprings would be able to capitalize on it
and where would that leave my scientific
validity and prestige?"
Uncle charged
back into the clash of words: "What
a lot of nonsense, Albert. I can't
believe my ears. Your arguments are an
injustice to your intelligence and not to be believed. They don't sound like the Albert I know. No;
there is something deeper, something being unsaid. How could your scientific validity be put
into question? If anything, Antonio's
many offsprings confirms your science. No.
There is more here than meets the eye, and I demand you tell me,"
whereupon he folded his arms and stood glaring at Father who cast his eyes down
and was silent.
After
listening to all of this, I finally spoke out:--
"Dr.
D'Augusta," I said, not being able to address him as Father, "you
went through great pains to create my intellect in your own image; your experiment has been so successful that
my own genius can be passed on. Suddenly
you wish to destroy me and my four darlings.
What will you do with the score or more of my other offsprings? Will you now go about examining every puppy
you see and when you find one of my scions are you going to buy it--or steal it
away from its owner and lobotomize it--or worse--kill it? I dare say you won't destroy it, nor can
you--and you know that. So everything
you've said, thus far, to justify this heinous surgery is trash, utter
trash. I know you better than you think
I do. You have not merely created a
talking dog, you have created a consciousness--part of which is yours. I am your alter ego, Doctor. I am no Frankenstein's monster of dead parts. Look at me:
I am blood of your blood! Would
you destroy part of you?
"Additionally, sir, you have failed to take into account my own
feelings. Yes; you have simply made a decision based on your
own narrow thoughts if, indeed, they are your own thoughts" (and I quickly
gave a look toward Sylvia) "and consider this lobotomy almost a fait accompli. However, sir, you fail to realize that I
shall not allow myself to undergo such base treatment, in the same way you
would not allow such a procedure for your own person; nor shall I allow you to touch my
babies. Am I making myself clear? I may be what I am on the surface, a mere
dog, but I am also a sentient being with deep feelings, and I love life and
appreciate what I am--even if there are those who do not appreciate me--"
and again I turned my accusing eyes to Sylvia, who could not meet my stare and
averted her eyes. "I am also a thinker and a talker and I can call a press
conference and let this issue be brought to public attention. Do you understand?"
Sylvia turned
on me (if you will excuse the expression) like a dog:--
"How dare
you, you four-legged ingrate! How dare
you! A press conference? If you even go near the telephone
I'll...I'll..."
"You'll
what, Sylvia?" asked Uncle, stepping in front of her. She just glared at him. "The press conference might even be
called by me. Then what will you
do?" said Uncle.
"You
wouldn't," she said.
"Ah, but
that is where you are wrong. I
would--unless, of course, this mad scheme is shelved and I am given legal
custody of Antonio, Betty and the pups."
Just then the door bell rang. Sylvia went to answer. In not too long a time she was back and she
was shaking, and for a moment she was unable to do little else except move her
lips open and closed the way fish do.
"What is
it, dear?" asked Father. "Tell
us."
CHAPTER XVII
In an agitated
voice Sylvia answered: "There is a
television reporter with a camera crew and he's asking to interview the talking
dog!" I thought she would burst
with fury. Nevertheless, I felt
reprieved. The Fates were on my
side; but I did not wish to be made a
spectacle of in front of a television camera.
"Let me
go and talk to them," said Uncle Corrado.
I crept up to
the window and looked out through the lace curtains. I could see the call letters on the service
truck: WBYX; a local news channel noted for its propensity
for sensationalism and arrogant reporters.
I shuddered. I could see a
cameraman panning the front of the house so I ducked down. "A cameraman is filming the front of the
house," I said.
Father and
Sylvia looked at each other and winced.
She turned to me and said in an ugly, throaty, whisper: "It's all your fault."
By this time I
didn't care nor did I think for a moment anything was my fault. This insistence of always trying to put the
blame for something on someone was one of the many human imperfections I'd
observed. It is a real fault in my human
cousins (or brothers, I'm not sure which), that when something goes wrong, they
always try to find a scapegoat and penalize someone calling him or her the
culprit, the perpetrator and lay blame and, more often than not, do it with the
purpose to belittle, shame and punish and make someone sorry who is no more at
fault than anyone else or any system.
That's why there are so many penal codes around and so few enforceable
moral codes of conduct, the many religions, notwithstanding. Fault usually implies some weakness or error
and, as far as I was concerned, there was neither on my part.
Uncle
returned, closing the door softly. He
looked around the room as if searching for something; his eyes fell on me. He smiled.
"Apparently some off-hand remark you made to the paramedic was
reported to those hyenas at WBYX, Antonio.
In future, you must guard your tongue," and then he laughed. How he laughed. I had never seen him laugh so in all the time
I'd known him.
"You are
both fools," he said to Father and Sylvia, once he'd regained his
composure, "and now the whole world will know of this magnificent
creature's genius, blasted through the medium of the six o'clock news, and if you think you will be
able to change anything, you're in for a surprise."
"Why? What did you say to
the reporter?" asked Sylvia, in a tremulous voice.
"Say?
I told him he was a fool to believe such a story--but wait for the
kicker, hear more: I was told, just now,
that the paramedic had his radio on and the talk button, after his last
transmission, had stuck, so everything that was said from the time they
arrived, was recorded at the dispatch office--including Antonio's 'Drop dead,
buddy.' All the voices have been
accounted for--human wise, that is--except for one. The reporter said he and his crew will stay
outside until you agree to an interview."
"Nonsense. They can't do
that," said Sylvia.
"But they
can and they will."
"I shall
call the campus police; they will make
them leave."
"That
will only stoke the fire. I believe you
ought to call President Ardath and apprise him of the situation. Perhaps he can figure a way out of this. In the meanwhile, I'm going to make
arrangements to transfer Antonio and the others--that is, if you have no objection,
Cousin?"
Father was
silent at first, but at last he spoke. "No;
I have no objections. Take them
and take good care of them," he said.
Father did
call Dr. Ardath. I did not hear the
conversation, for I stayed close to Uncle, who went to his room and called a
couple of van rental agencies. He wanted
a closed van to take us to freedom; and
after having arranged a rental, via phone, he left by the back door and went
out the garden gate unseen by the gathering out front. He had also called a taxi, so I'd overheard,
to pick him up a few blocks away. Uncle
is very shrewed.
When I went
back to Father, he was on the phone again;
this time it was the campus chief of police whom Dr. Ardath had called,
and the chief was now calling Father for details; but, as Father was told, the television news
crew was not violating any laws, and the chief had no authority to move them
on. Father was crestfallen, he looked
paler and my heart went out to him.
Sylvia, who
was at Father's elbow whispered something in his ear. I only caught two words: "...good riddance..." I could only conclude she meant myself, Betty
and the pups. I called out:--
"Sylvia,
I heard your 'good riddance,' which could only be meant for myself and my
family. Now I know what Uncle meant when
he said there was something unsaid; now
things become even clearer. You, Sylvia,
are Father's evil genius, the one driving us out into the storm. You're jealous--ah, yes, I see it all too
clearly now. You never did care for
me--perhaps when I was younger--but for a long time now your affection has been
false. You thought I had taken Father's
affection and time away from you.
Yes; and it is you who decided on
the lobotomy! Owww!" I wailed. "You would have destroyed my genius and
that of my family. You are wicked--oh,
I'm so mad I could spit!" (Which, I
might add, is not a little difficult for a dog, a clear indication that a
special idiom for dogs must be created so that this new idiom reflects a dog's
physical abilities).
Sylvia stared
at me with angry, volcanic eyes. I could
almost feel her hatred for me, who had loved her, trusted her. Had I not then been so incensed, I would have
fallen to the ground and wept. But my
increasing anger clouded all other emotions and reason. I growled at her, the way any common dog would
have when faced by danger.
"At one
time I thought you were cute, but as you grew older you took up more and more
of Albert's time and our resources. You
weren't supposed to be the center of his world.
We were happy until you became too smart for your britches--always
spouting poetry or quoting some arcane philosopher and lamenting about your
status as a dog. You are nothing more
than a dog. A dog! A smart-mouthed cur who should have
remembered his place!"
Her noxious
words seemed to pollute the very air I breathed. All at once an evil, vengeful thought came
over me. It was as if I had been seized
by a demon. What had come to my mind so
suddenly was a vicious act of revenge, completely and utterly base, a
traitorous act, cold, cynical and it drove me to trot over to the
telephone. Lifting the receiver, I
carefully touched the numbers for Dr. Blauteufel. Ipse respondit: "Hello.
Here is Doctor Blauteufel."
Naturally, I
spoke to him in German; and to save the
reader time, I shall translate our conversation into English for convenience's
sake. I have a good memory:--
I: Herr Doktor,
I'm sorry if I disturb you. I would like
to introduce myself. I am the talking
dog developed by Dr. D'Augusta.
Dr. B: What
nonsense is this? Who are you and what
do you want? I have no time for
pranks. Speak.
I: I assure you,
this is no prank. I am not a human
being. I'm a dog, a vizsla. You've seen me before. I'm sure you will remember. I have superintelligence. Would you like to speak Chinese with me? I understand you have some knowledge of this
exotic tongue. How about Russian? We could have a delightful chat. I'm sure if you'd come over to Professor
D'Augusta's house you would not waste your time. Why even the media are here.
Dr. B: Who are you
and what is your motive? Do you mock me?
I: I assure you,
Herr Doktor Professor, I do not mock you.
I invite you. Come over. You would enjoy meeting me. What do you say? [A long pause].
Dr. B:: If you are what you say you are, then I demand to
speak to Dr. D'Augusta!
I:
Immediately. As you wish. Please hold while I bring him the telephone.
(With the
receiver between my teeth, I carried it to Father).
I: (To Father in
English) Blauteufel would speak with
you. (I dropped the receiver into his
lap. He drained of color and, with a
shaking hand, picked up the receiver).
Father: D'Augusta
here, Blauteufel.
Dr B: So? What is this all about? [Reconstructed, based on Father's response].
Father: Yes, it's
true. Yes, he called you. Want?
I don't know what he wants. Maybe
revenge. No, he's not a monsters out of
control. Yes, you can come over. There is nothing to hide. The subterfuge is over. (He dropped the receiver).
"How
could you, Tony? Why?" asked
Father, burying his face in his hands and moaning. When his hands came off his face I saw
anguish, despair, anger, bewilderment, rippling over his face like moving masks. And, he seemed to have aged in just a few
minutes, for he looked older than his years.
He pressed his lips together until they became white and he wrung his
hands. I shall never forget his
contorted face. Taking a deep breath
through his nostrils, he spoke:--
"It is no
longer possible to keep you from the public.
I know that." His voice was
full of resignation. He continued: "But, Anthony Albert, how could you
stoop so low as to have shamed me into inviting that cretin, Blauteufel? You take advantage of a weak man. Where is your noble spirit?"
You must
understand, dear reader, at that juncture, I had lost all reason, and the noble
spirit Father invoked had been numbed.
Also, I was under tremendous psychological pressures from both my human
consciousness and my canine ancestral memory, each wanting precedence over the
other, which filled me with arrogance and poisoned my affections with the bile
of anger and revenge. And in that state
I stood my false ground of pride and said:--
"I may be
a dog, but I have a human nature. My
feelings are no different than yours.
You did not take into account the emotional aspects of my creation, my
humanness, Father. You only went after
genius. You passed on to me genius and,
also, transmitted the collective emotions of humanity and dogs. I am only doing what my DNA progenitors have
done throughout the millennia. DNA,
Father, is not only chemistry, it also carries spirit, emotions. I am doing what, perhaps, you, too, would do
if you were in a similar fix. Do I not
manifest traits you hide or refuse to admit to, Father? But it was your higher self I loved. A dog recognized the summum bonum in you and
has loved you for it as no one has ever loved you. But you have betrayed me. Look at me!
I'm a dog. I bark, I walk on all
fours. I urinate and couple in
public. I can't be anything else but a
dog no matter what my IQ is. I am a
monster--not physically grotesque--but my mind makes me one to others. I could very well teach a course in
comparative Indo-European morphemes and recite Dante and Goethe and sing lays
in Provencals, And what good is that to
anyone?" I lashed out:--
"I am a
literate dog in a human world that does not honor him. You said I was like a son to you, but you
consented to lobotomize me and the children.
Is that what you do to a son? You
are a monster yourself for even having discussed such a course of action. You would destroy a beautiful creation. You would have put us all under the knife and
made of us idiots! That is
unforgivable!"
There was no
end to my harsh words. As I spoke,
emptying my spleen, my keen ears heard a screech of tires and the slamming of a
car door. I sensed something and grew
alert and, ceasing my harangue, I sprang to the window. When I stuck my head under the curtains, I
saw Blauteufel walking to our front door with the t.v. camera trained on him.
Being on the
qui vive, I heard the front door slam, then I heard voices: Uncle and Blauteufel's.
"I'm no
intruder," came his strident exclamation, which penetrated the walls. "I have been invited by D'Augusta
himself. Let me pass!"
The moment I
heard his voice I knew what a fool I had been.
Deo gratia, however, Uncle was back and in the nick of time. But not even Uncle could keep Blauteufel from
seeing us.
In he stormed
with Uncle just behind.
"Well?" he said, standing just inside the door with his arms
akimbo. "Who is the perpetrator of
this farce?"
Had I been
able to crawl away and hide for my shame, I would have gone and lived like a
repentant monk. All at once, however, as
if awakened from a bad dream, by a charge of electricity, I became acutely
aware of my glaring blunder, and all because I had been blinded by anger, false
pride, vanity and vengeance. I still shudder from my lapse of mental clarity
and compassion. There was also danger in
the air. I could sense it. Blauteufel was dangerous, so I was especially
on my guard. With my powers of reasoning
and discernment back, I felt I had to (now) both protect and stand up for
Father.
"So,
where is this wundertier? I've come to
expose him" Blauteufel looked
around the room; his eyes studied
everybody, scrutinizing each of us. His
eyes stopped. "You look
familiar. Hmm, are you the dog with whom
I spoke on the telephone?" he asked, addressing me in a sarcastic
voice. Before I could speak, however, he
continued:--
"Are you
the humbug who annoys a busy man? No,
no; you look too stupid to be
intelligent." I was not
offended; I was once again master of my feelings; my assault on Father had emptied me and that
emptiness was now filled with enlightenment.
I was glad I had read the zen masters and Chuang Tze during my Oriental
philosophy study days. Those masters
were always talking about instantaneous understanding; and I had gone from gross baseness to sudden
union with profound sentiments in a flash:
I was able to transcend my ego and affronts to my intelligence.
"Professor D'Augusta, are you going to give me an explanation?"
Father said,
"Tony will speak for himself. Would
you care for English, German, Latin, Spanish, Chinese or--Tony, what was that
other one. Dear me, it seems I've
forgotten it," he said, innocently admitting to his lapsus memoriae.
"For God's sake, Mein Herr, stop this
insanity. I can see your pallor, I hear
the weakness in your voice," he said, like a clinician announcing his
observations. "You are not a well man.
And I have heard you have been in the hospital. It is obvious to me you are in a critical
state of breakdown, and in the process, you have created this cock and bull
story and now you want me to be part of your delusions about a polyglottal
dog."
I found my
tongue.
"I
believe, Father, the language you refer to is Esperanto, a language, Herr
Doktor Professor, I understand you have been using in your research." I was standing directly in front of him; so there could be no question about whom was
speaking. I felt so comfortably urbane
and just the touch of the snob.
Blauteufel's
initial facial response was of unmistakable incredulity. I could see it quite clearly. His color changed from red anger to ashen
disbelief.
"Won't
you sit down, sir? Would you care for
some refreshment? Perhaps some
coffee? We have an excellent Arabica we
can grind for you, or, would you prefer some schnapps? Which would you prefer?" I laid it on thick. "Yes, perhaps some schnapps would do you
a world of good; it might bring back
your color. Please, Doctor, do sit over
there." I pointed with my right
front paw as gracefully as I could, trying to mimic the gesture of some
gracious, human host, indicating a choice spot on the sofa. "I'm sure you will find it most
comfortable. I often sit there
myself."
Blauteufel,
his look of astonishment notwithstanding, sat without once taking his eyes off
me. When he had seated himself, he
said:--
"I want
nothing to drink. I want to know who is
the ventriloquist? Ach, I was not
yesterday born," he said, lapsing into German syntax. I discerned his usage and found it
amusing--in spite of the circumstances.
"Ventriloquist? Herr Doktor,
you surprise me. You are much too
sophisticated to believe that. Come,
come, sir, look at me. What do you see? A dog.
Yes, but I am no well-trained house pet who barks at the neighborhood
cats and fetches the morning paper. You
see before you the culmination of pure genius, the creation of my
Father-creator," so saying, I lifted my muzzle proudly, in Father's
direction with as much dignity as a dog's muzzle can convey.
"You only
pretend to ask for the ventriloquist to cover your shock at the reality of my
person. I understand your condition
quite well, Professor. I've read a book
or two on psychology. I am very
real. I am everything I say I am. By the way, did you find the correctness of
my German to be more than satisfactory when I spoke with you on the phone a
while ago? I had a most excellent
teacher," and with my paw, I pointed to Uncle with respect.
"You are
a fiend!" he retorted angrily.
"Sir, you
continue to surprise me with your theatrics.
I assure you I am no fiend and this is no theater impromptu of the
absurd. It's all very real--all flesh
and blood." He sat still. "Come, touch me. I won't bite.
And stop looking so surprised, Herman.
You needn't take a tissue sample of me to your lab. My presence should be proof enough. You are a scientist, and should not be so
astounded by an observable phenomenon. I
am flesh, blood and voice. The both of
us, Herr Blauteufel, even share archetypal progressions and drink from the same
fount of universal consciousness, the collective unconscious and..." he
cut me short.
"You
sound like a Jungian."
"Ho! Jungian?
I never thought of myself that way, but now that you mention it, my
words do have a Jungian flavor, and a little bit of Eric Neumann, too, wouldn't
you agree? Have you read him? I found him delightful, especially his work
on the origins and history of consciousness;
marvelous reading, but, personally, I rather bend toward the Tao,
myself. What about you?"
"I have
no time for metaphysical prattle. I deal
in facts."
"And so
do I. I've invited you to examine
me; that's a fact. But you don't seem to be interested, so let
me ask you this: Would you say it is a
fact that you are having a discourse on things psychological and metaphysical
with a dog, a non-human?"
There was a
long, heavy silence. Presently, he
nodded his head curtly and muttered, "Ja, ja," in capitulation.
"Well,
since you admit I am a fact, understand further that I was the first, unique,
but no more. There are others like me in
this house; and in this neighborhood
there are other like me, also, and we have indeed multiplied and have
grown. Have no doubt about that. So, Herr Blauteufel, you might as well find
another career because your work is crudely redundant--to say the least. It doesn't add to the store of
knowledge. In short, it is
superfluous--doch, doch, uberfloss," I added in emphatic German.
For a moment
he closed his eyes and seemed lost in thought.
Quickly, however, he opened his eyes and glared at me. Herman started breathing heavily, saliva
oozed from the side of his mouth.
"You...you dare to call my work
superfluous?! I am now passe,
unneeded? You are a devil! My work is important. I will create a hundred such as you--just
give me time!"
"You
waste your time. All I need do is mate
with a female--any canine female and create dogs who can be educated, dogs with
mental powers heretofore undreamed of in an animal. You fool yourself continuing to think you can
teach dumb chimpanzees to mouth rote speeches.
My Father's genius has eclipsed your work and he has already created an
uberhund, if you will allow me this new coinage. Were he to use his methods with a chimpanzee,
he would conquer the world. What use,
then, are your crude, almost barbaric methods and mediocre results?"
"Say what
you wish. Your slanders are a clear
indication that more work on you is needed.
You are only a prototype--an excellent one, there is no doubt about
that. There are a few adjustments, shall
we say, in behavior yet to be made--starting with your capacity for
insolence. I would breed that out of you
and mold a beast who obeys!"
"Ha! I knew you would say that. I intuited it from the start of your
rambling. Thank you, sir, you have
confirmed my intuition. You know, Herr
Doktor, you are only a pretender to science, You want to be a creator of new beings without
taking into account the nature of the being you are trying to condition. Robots are more suited for men to create. You go about creation as if the subject of
your experiments and brain-washing techniques were devoid of their own
natures. You would want a creature to
correspond exactly to your calculations at the exclusion of its true
nature. Do you really believe the true
nature of your chimp wants to recite in Esperanto? You are absurd.
"But my Father,
my creator, he truly made a wonder. Just
look at me: I can recite the Lord's
Prayer in twenty different languages and translate it into ancient Punic if I
had a mind to. That, sir, is science,
that, sir, is what this man has done," and I pointed to Father. "Now how does that compare to your dog
and pony show and your lab of smoke and mirrors?"
I never got
the opportunity to continue my phillipic, and I was waxing so eloquently. I was proud I had read Cicero and had learned
from him, when all of a sudden Blauteufel leaped from the sofa, pouncing on me
like a predator after a prey. Before I
knew it, he had me by the throat with both hands.
Momentarily, I
was stunned. My life, however, was in
danger and I did the only sensible thing I could do: I clawed him with both
front and rear legs. But he had the
advantage.
Uncle jumped
into the fracas. He grabbed Blauteufel's
wrists and managed to pry off at least one of his strangleholds and I was able
to breath a little better. He still had
a grip with his left hand, however, and his grip was strong.
Sylvia, who
had been mute and passive all this time watched as Blauteufel now used his
hand, which he'd managed to pull away from Uncle, to pummel Uncle with a
fist. Not only was he trying to strangle
me with one hand, he was beating Uncle to boot, at the same time, with the
other. He was like a tiger
unleashed. His outrage was fiendish and
his strength remarkable.
Our only hope
was the decisive intervention of Sylvia.
She, however, did nothing, but stayed, either out of shock or by design,
immobile.
Father, who
had been watching, got up, weak as he was, and threw himself on Blauteufel,
grabbing him, shouting at him to stop!
Father, despite his own indisposition, managed to knee Blauteufel in the
groin and put him out of action. I'd
never known Father to have ever lifted his hand against another and now here he
was delivering a knee jab like an experienced street fighter. Unco!
At the height
of the pandemonium Father collapsed.
Only then did Sylvia act. She
flew to his aid. She touched his carotid
artery, she listened for breath and felt for a pulse. She tried CPR; but she was becoming increasingly hysterical
and shaking so much that her uncoordinated efforts at manual resuscitation were
wasted.
Uncle, who was
the only ablebodied one who had his wits about him, called the emergency
number, then went to Father's aid.
Shortly afterwards, when the wail of the ambulance could be heard, I went
to the window and saw the camera crew and the reporter alert and the camera
rolling while the reporter, with a microphone in hand, spoke into it, giving, I
imagined, a remote account to his studio of some impending story. I found it all so distasteful.
While we
waited, Blauteufel lay on the floor in a fetal position with his strangler's
hands now coddling his gonads, which Father had probably damaged. He was groaning and cursing. Uncle continued giving Father CPR as I stood
by helplessly, wanting terribly to do something to help revive my Father. But there was nothing, nothing I could do
because I was a dog.
The paramedics
let themselves in and came into the study.
They relieved Uncle and did what they could for Father. However, it was too late: Father had given up the ghost.
Sylvia's
hysteria had now reached a violent stage:
I saw her pick up a vase (a particular favorite of mine, I might
add). I moved before I could become a
target. The vase crashed to the floor,
shattering in the very place I'd escaped from.
The shattering
vase seemed to bring her to another level of hysteria. She began to weep and wail, gnash her teeth
and swing her arms about, hugging herself (it seemed) then unhugging herself
repeatedly so.
Her hair,
usually neatly coiffured, was disheveled, Medusa-like, and the glaze over her
eyes and the froth at her mouth told me she was mad. I backed away until I was at the door. I turned and ran for all I was worth out the
back dog door. I'd take my chances
outside. I would not be trapped by
confining walls.
The paramedics
summoned the campus police, who were close by.
When the police entered, the t.v. crew was at the threshold. Uncle slammed the door in their faces--all
this he related to me afterwards.
It took two of
the police officers and one of the paramedics to wrestle Sylvia to the floor,
for when they approached her, she flew at them with a fury and ferocity seeming
to feed on itself, giving her the strength of many. I was glad I was not there to witness her
combat deliriums. In a straight jacket
and strapped to a gurney, she was wheeled out, to the "delight" of
the t.v. crew, only too happy to have some footage for the evening news.
Alas, it was
too dreadful. When I heard Sylvia's
wails, I peeked over the fence just in time to see them push her the short
distance from the door to the ambulance.
Then I knew the coast was clear and I could go back in.
The coroner
was called. The police called more police
and a lieutenant and a sergeant arrived and tried to piece together and
understand the events of the recent episode.
"Now say
that again," said the police lieutenant to Uncle, and Uncle would begin
anew, explaining that during a metaphysical discussion that Tony, the dog, was
attacked by Professor Blauteufel for no just cause, that he had not been
threatening him. Then the police would
turn to Blauteufel and ask:--
"You say
you lost your temper because of what the dog, Tony, said, and you attacked
him?" Whereupon Herman, who was
very cooperative with the police corroborated Uncle's statements.
The sergeant
said out loud to no one in particular:
"I think they took only one nut away and missed these two."
I was standing
there all the time, but the police never bothered to ask me for my statement,
and I was too much in a state of shock
to volunteer--but I would have answered any questions put to me. Uncle said he would not press charges for
Blauteufel's having attacked him--and obviously, I could not press charges.
When all the
formalities were through, and albeit the circumstances were most unusual, the
coroner conferred a moment with the police, then declared Father's death would
not be considered a homicide until proven otherwise by an autopsy. The sergeant drove Blauteufel home because he
was still hurting from Father's blow and was shaking all over. A second, newly arrived mobile t.v. camera
crew followed them as they drove away.
Sylvia was in
a psychiatric ward. The police were
gone. The paramedics and the coroner
were gone. We were alone at last; and it was not until that moment that I
realized the magnitude of what had just gone before: Father was no more.
I broke
down. I crawled to the place where his
body had lain. I stayed there all night,
inconsolable. Uncle was no better
off. He sat by me, holding my head in
his lap and together we cried: He for
the loss of his dear cousin, his friend and I for the loss of my
Father-creator, my friend, my mentor. A
good man was dead. Our tears and grief
commingled that night of mutual sorrow and lamentation.
An autopsy
proved Father had suffered an embolism, which was recorded as the cause of
death.
You can't
imagine, dear reader, the heartbreaking stillness and loneliness in the
house. Father dead, Sylvia gone mad,
Uncle and I grieving, my throat sore from being choked. My muscles ached, my appetite was gone. My little darlings wanted to play, but I was
laid too low to respond to their innocent coaxings and nudgings and Betty,
intuiting my sadness, lay next to me in
commiserative silence.
CHAPTER XVIII
Funeral
arrangements were made. Uncle and I
collaborated on a funeral oration. We
agreed it should be in English, but we nonetheless rendered it, also, into
eloquent Latin to give our hearts a brief respite from our grief by
participating in something near and dear to us, language, which once gave us
joy and which now gave us some solace.
The original, bilingual text of the oration is in my files.
Our spirits
were calming down and we were more accepting of Father's passing; but the cat was out of the bag, or, rather,
the dog was no longer in the dog house:
He was on national television. Of
course there was no footage of me, per se, though there were plenty of shots of
the front of the house and the reruns of poor Sylvia being wheeled to the
ambulance, the police coming and going, and the coroner's wagon taking Father's
remains away. That was a cold, cold
act. There was nothing of substance to
show, so the media showed nothing, pretending it was something. I watched those scenes twice before walking
away from the television in disgust. The
networks were making hay in the rain.
The fact of the matter was that Uncle and I were a family in mourning,
yet caravans of cars passed up and down the street with rubbernecking gawkers
making a mockery of our mourning and our right to privacy. Their parading presence saddened me; and, lest we forget, it was now known that a
talking dog resided on Elm Street. To
add salt to the wounds, there arose stories--I do not make them up--terrible
rumors besmirching my character and dishonoring Father. I have the videotape I recorded to document
the slanders. I give you a sample:--
That I was an
experiment out of control, a kind of Frankenstein's monster, who had turned on
"his master," and was the cause of his death. These were all bantered about on various
speculative television forums, as if the reporters had been privy to everything
in our household. And the tabloids were
having a field day. There were more
"truths:" That Blauteufel and
Father, long time scientific antagonists, had had a kind of "duel"
with each's respective beast, i.e., the chimp Jezebel and myself. But we "mutants" turned on Father
and Blauteufel, in which attack Father died.
It was further alleged that we two animals conspired and had been the
aggressors and instigators of the attack!
However, the most vulgar of the tabloids stated that Sylvia was now in
the psychiatric hospital because I had tried to force myself on her! Can you imagine the shame I had to
endure? The amount of corruptions and
lies that came out of the media could have raised the dead. I always get a little upset (still) when I
think about this particularly pernicious accusation; and I apologize to you, dear reader, if I
offend you in any way by mention of this salacious revelation. But this item must, also, be
told.
O,
bitterness! What scandalous things were
not stated. What lie-filled articles
didn't I read? I've kept the
clippings. They, too, are in my files. I was outraged and gnashed my teeth. What gall!
What unmitigated cheek to have made such false statements about a
situation which no one had the slightest clue as to what was the truth.
As for
Blauteufel, he gladly sat before the cameras and reporters. I give you briefly part of what he said. I made a videotape composite of his
statements taped during three different interviews. The tape is in my files. I submit a transcribed reduction of it for
your examination:--
[Blauteufel] "It is a sad
day for science and for the world to have had unleashed on it a monster dog,
unpredictable and more dangerous than any wild beast...because this animal does
not think like a beast...but with a human mind, and, it speaks...with ten such
beasts, much trouble could be made for civilization and this beast must...and
should be destroyed. And I would urge
any and all whose bitches have given birth to such a kind of dog to bring it to
me and I shall relieve them of the heavy responsibility of administering to it
for the sake of public order."
He said
more: That Father had stolen his secrets
and that was why he had gone to the house to confront him and have it out. That's when I attacked him--at Father's
command--to keep him from telling the whole world Father was a scientific
thief!
My outrage
smouldered. I used all the spiritual
exercises I knew to keep both sets of my ancestral demons from taking
over. I used all my will power to stay
away from the FAX machine to prevent me from communicating my outrage to all
the duped producers, publishers, editors and directors who hung on Blauteufel's
every word. I even refrained from faxing
Blauteufel to remind him that he was a liar.
However, the vicious things he said notwithstanding, Blauteufel did
something I never thought possible, and I shall relate that in its proper
place.
We were
besieged by the media. We kept them at a
distance, however, by hiring security guards to keep these predators at bay.
Father
belonged to no church, so he was buried without religious service. Uncle had a brass band hired and as we walked
to the gravesite, the band played the Beethoven "Marce Funebre," from
his Eroica Symphony, which I thought quite appropriately sensitive to the
occasion.
At the
gravesite there were many mourners: Dr.
Ardath lead a faculty delegation and the Academic Senate marched as a group,
all berobed and in file like monks. Many
of the administrative staff had come, and many, many former and present
students, too. The campus police chief came dressed in white gloves and formal
uniform, accompanied by a small contingent of his force, one officer holding a
flag and one carrying an old bolt action rifle as a lone color guard.
Dr. Ardath
gave a brief, choked-voice, honorific introduction followed by a short
statement read by the president of the Academic Senate. Uncle then stepped forward, mounted a small
dais and delivered the eloquent oration we had composed:--
"We are
come to bury and honor a great man who had great scientific vision: Albert Lucius D'Augusta, who was my
cousin. Our grandmothers were
sisters. Our line is deep and old and
filled with honors. Our blood was
close; but as close as we were in blood,
we were closer in spirit and world view.
Our souls were friends. That is
important to remember in our fleeting lives.
Albert Lucius was also a father.
He leaves behind an only son and untold grandchildren. His very DNA was used to splice life into his
offspring.
"His
genetically engineered son, Anthony Albert D'Augusta, is a dog and so are my
late cousin's grandchildren. For through my cousin's science, he created this son, a new and superlative species of
dog with superintellect, who speaks many languages and who can easily converse
on things philosophical, or, play you a common game of checkers or read you a
poem of his own composition. The
grandchildren are too young to understand that their progenitor is no more, no
more."
There was a
murmuring and movement among the mourners and gasps of shock and surprise as
people turned to me with looks of disbelief on their faces upon hearing this
revelation. But I stood strong in my
dignity, not moving a muscle as Uncle continued.
"Albert
Lucius was a teacher and a paragon in his field, and he lived an impeccable
life. He was wealthy and he shared his
wealth. He liked good music and
food; he loved nature and had a keen and
insatiable curiosity about natural phenomena.
He was a member of many learned societies and received many honors and
awards. As a physician and scientist he
advanced both medicine and science; as
my cousin, and my life-long friend, he advanced, also, the field of
friendship. As a father of a remarkable
entity, he did the best he knew how, considering the circumstances. The extraordinary son grieves for his father
as is fitting of a filial and loving son.
"Albert's
wife, his true love for many happy years, being now mentally incapacitated,
would also be grieving were she to know of his demise. Alas, her mind is lost to other realms. Perhaps one day she can be told of his
passing.
"He will
be missed. He will be remembered by all
those who knew and loved him. Our world
is now less because of his passing.
"By all
that is holy and mysterious, we inter the remains of our friend, our colleague,
our teacher, our father, our cousin, No
one knows what is on the other side of the veil. But, if, as all the holy books tell us, there
is a paradise, Albert Lucius D'Augusta, will be bathing in its golden light.
"We
salute you, we commend you to the earth," and stepping down from the dais,
he picked up a handful of dirt and poured it onto the coffin. Others followed. Uncle gave a signal and the band struck up
"The Skye Boat Song," a favorite of Fathers, who had especially liked
it when played on the bagpipes.
Little by
little the mourners left. We tarried for
a while. We talked in low voices nearby
the grave. It felt good to commune this
way. We were standing obliquely to the
path so we did not see Blauteufel until he was in our peripheral vision; we both turned. In one hand Herman held a bouquet of yellow
flowers and in the other he carried a somber grey homburg hat. We nodded to him, he nodded to us. What else could we do? He stood at the edge of the grave, his toes
overhanging the grave about an inch. He
spoke into the grave:--
"You gave
feeling to a cell. That shows great
genius. You gave supreme value to
something taken for granted: A common
dog ovum and made a creature with a man's brain and sensitivity. In my own way I was walking a similar path,
but, as I see it now, I was like a confused wanderer guided by a faulty
compass. I didn't know this
immediately. I also took advantage of
your death to justify my arrogance and to inflate my ego. It has taken a great struggle of conscience
these past few days for me to see my errors and follies. I can't ask you to forgive me, D'Augusta,
because you are dead, but I am asking your grave to forgive me," wherewith
he dropped the bouquet of yellow flowers onto the coffin.
He looked at
us again and gave us a short bow. We (or
rather Uncle) bowed back. I was only
able to acknowledge him with a nod of my head.
Uncle and I looked at each other.
We were stunned. Had we seen an
apparition and were the respectful words and conciliatory tone of the voice we
heard real? Yet it had been no phantom. He was flesh and blood and truly repentant.
I was moved to
speak to him, but I was so choked with emotion I could not speak, for he had
touched me deeply and I felt all the rancor I had held against him melt into
compassion. We watched him disappear
among the gravestones, then made our way back to the car.
As has been
said, we tried to avoid the media as much as we could. They had all but surrounded the house. They wanted a story, but we would not give
them one. This was a private family
affair and of no one else's concern. It
was impossible, however, to avoid them altogether. They had been kept away from the graveside by
our cohort of security guards, but on the public road they were at our limo and
the chauffeur had a devil of a time trying to open the door for us and our
guards had a rough time of it too, with these swarming gadflies.
Those fool
media people tried to goad me into speaking.
But, as it is said, I maintained my cool.. One reporter asked me in
dreadful Spanish if I was sad. Another
spoke to me in gibberish, making the kinds of sounds one makes around infants
to keep them happy. I can't imagine what
he expected to accomplish by that. A
journalist from France kept pestering me by asking repeatedly, "What will
you do now?"
Do? Why, of course, I would go on living my
life. One simply goes on. I didn't say that, naturally, and Uncle, as
always said, "No comment," no matter what was asked of him.
Uncle was
under a great strain; I could tell. But
he carried on, nonetheless, with great courage, stamina and aplomb. He adamantly refused any and all interviews,
nor would he speak to President Ardath, who still wanted to put me on display
for the fulfillment of his agreement with Father. Uncle even sent away an emissary from the
White House.
Without me
saying anything, Uncle was doing what I would have done: Keep the world away and live as privately and
as retired a life as possible, and not volunteer any information about my
person or Father's work. I wanted no
exposure. I just wanted to be left
alone. I loved Uncle even more because
our spirits were so much in tune that I did not have to express my wishes, for
he already knew them.
Uncle said we
had time on our side: That if we would
simply be patient and uprightly aloof, the swarms of media mosquitoes would
find other blood to suck and would fly away leaving us in peace. We occupied our time with a renewal of our
Punic studies to pass our besiegment, and we were able to take midnight
exercise in the back yard with Betty and the pups. When the hour was late and the coast clear,
we would often leave by the garden gate and take long walks to really stretch
our legs.
Uncle's
strategy worked and eventually the media encampment dwindled until our street
was empty except for the general public which still drove by now and then.
In the
meanwhile came the day for the reading of the will. Father had forgotten nothing. He had made provision not only for me and mine
(as I have related elsewhere), but for Sylvia, too, and the school, to various
foundations, scholarship funds, community centers, the music conservatory,
libraries and the S.P.C.A. Many of his
publications and papers he left to the library of the Academic Senate. I was not surprised by any of this, for my
late Father had been a generous man.
When we were
at last rid of condolers at the door, when at last the phone stopped ringing
and the last sympathy card and letter acknowledged, when at last all of our
tasks and obligations and legal matters and responsibilities were taken care
of, Uncle and I sat and had a long talk about our future.
I suggested we
try to get back as many of my progeny as possible--if possible. We negotiated with Professors Marquez and
Gundersen and got my darlings from them.
We often got calls from people saying they thought they had a talking
dog. Several calls proved to be true and
Uncle was able to offer a cash consideration for the release of the dog, or
dogs, in custody. With horror, we heard
that someone was planning to freeze the sperm of one of my offsprings when he
came of age. Initially we got back
twenty-eight. We had to lease a kennel
and kept them there until we moved to our new home. As time went by we got back many more.
Uncle sold the
Gettysburg farm and bought a remote place in the Pocono Mountains, big enough
for all of us and room for expansion.
Uncle recruited a sympathetic guardian, whom he screened and scrutinized
and interviewed half a dozen times to take over after his demise. He left nothing to chance. He was as thorough with our collective
welfare as he was a scholar. As I write,
Uncle is very much alive and, deo gratias, is in good health, in fact, we are
collaborating on a translation of the works of A.E. Housman into Russian and
Chinese.
Our
guardian-mother is Marieanne Montrogue, and I like her a lot. She's from Quebec, speaks excellent French
and speaks English with a charming French-Canadian accent. Marieanne is as kind as she is pretty and
I've got a slight crush on her. We liked
each other upon our first meeting. She
is teaching me French-Canadian folk songs.
We have a
small dog village. By no means can it be
called otherwise. We have small
cottages, built, more or less, on human lines, but, also, architecturally
sensitive to the needs of dogs of superintellect. We eat, however, in the common dinning room
at the main house, where everyone in the village is always welcome. The main house is where I live with my family
and is also Uncle and Marieanne's quarters and it also houses our central
library. We are an active community, a
canine Castalia, an "Airdale's Arcadia," as one of my offsprings,
once removed, of airdale extraction put it.
From time to
time we get an addition to the community.
Our latest came by himself, having heard about us on a radio talk show
while he was a common pet in White Plains, New York. He walked all the way to us here in
Pennsylvania and was in pretty bad shape when he arrived. We ministered to him and welcomed him into
the family. Our code of return welcomes
all. We turn none away.
Recently we
held a council meeting. We are very
democratic. We deliberated for many
hours. The topic was celibacy and sterilization. The question was: Should we cause surgical neutering of
ourselves, or, take vows of celibacy and die out, each in his or her own time
until we are extinct, or, have birth control and keep our numbers small, but,
nonetheless, vitally participating in our way of life?
We agreed to
life and birth control. After all, we
are a very special species of brilliant dog--not just intelligent--but
brilliant. However, the world would see
us only as freaks and would have us on display doing tricks.
Perhaps one
day our human relatives will look upon us in another light. We would welcome their friendship. In spite of considerations to the contrary,
we are related. We are cano-humano. Our DNA proves it.
I pass my time
in various ways: I help in the Housman
translation; I tutor and give regularly
scheduled lectures. We have what one
might call a miniuniversity. Uncle is
our chancellor and we grant degrees.
When I'm not busy teaching, I keep a journal and I've started a
picaresque novel which keeps me amused.
I indulge the muse and I've a new book of poetry to my credit, which
Uncle wants to send off to a publisher under a nom de plume, and, I found time
to write this account.
Our village
veterinarian, whom we also recruited through a thorough screening, came to us
from New Mexico. He is originally from a
Tewa speaking pueblo and I take lessons from him in his indigenous tongue, so I
am pretty busy, considering that my doctor, Henry Abeyta,D.V.M diagnosed me as
having arthritis. Father had overlooked
that genetic inheritance. We of the
community are now examining the possibility of creating a new one of us, or a
batch of us, to be disease resistant.
But for the moment this is only academic talk. Our sharp minds and computer models based on
Father's findings and procedures create this possibility. But we keep this exercise in proper
perspective.
Betty and I
are still together and we are happy as we glide into a graceful old age. The children are big and they are
academically astute and I am so proud of them.
I have no axe
to grind with the world. I hold no
grudges and no prejudices or malice toward anyone, but I am always mindful that
I am a dog, even if my knowledge and world view and intellect aren't too
different than a human's. But where we
differ is that I know what I am and I do not ask, nor have I ever asked for
preferential treatment.
One amusing
note: The local foxes don't know what to
make of us speaking and the hares are never sure if we are going to chase
them--which we don't.
As I look back
on all that has happend to me from the time of my birth and my awakening to
consciousness to the present, it is as if in a dream, which recalls to mind and
confirms for me the lines of Wordsworth:--
"Our
birth is but a sleep and a forgetting..."
The End