wild


Once I asked Bob why he didn’t want a home. Humans, I’d noticed, seem to be irrationally fond of dogs, and I could see why a puppy would be easier to cuddle with than, say, a gorilla.


“Everywhere is my home,” Bob answered. “I am a wild beast, my friend: untamed and undaunted.”


I told Bob he could work in the shows like Snickers, the poodle who rides Stella.


Bob said Snickers sleeps on a pink pillow in Mack’s office. He said she eats foul-smelling meat from a can.


He made a face. His lips curled, revealing tiny needles of teeth.


“Poodles,” he said, “are parasites.”

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