I stare into my dog’s eyes a lot. Yes, here, I know—he is begging. He begs a lot. I give him food a lot. Because fuck it, that’s why. Beyond these times of food in hand, I’m telling you he speaks.  There’s too much there, too much in those red eyes. Yes, he has red eyes. Watch them in the light.  What does he dream about? What does that fucker think about when I catch him watching a movie or tilting his head as I’m speaking to him?  I’ll be right back; I’m going to go ask him. Senior Piskoff, if you're reading this over my shoulder, know that I consider you a legend.

I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s this health craze where everyone eats healthy and works out and looks like a Spartan warrior from the olden days.  Yeah, of course I’d like to look like a Spartan but honest to the Gods that is a dull fucking life.  I love Chinese food. I love cheese-burgers. And ice cream, and fucking soft chew licorice.  I love enjoying good food with good company. I love having a drink. A good sit and smoke. You can’t deny that a porch on a cold night or a fire on the same almost always—actually one-hundred fucking percent of the time—yields better words with vastly more interesting people than the specimens you’ll see at the gym. If you’re in the single and fuck kind of game, more power to you. Get out there. But the toughest people I’ve known would ask, “Why?” And I find myself doing the same. Something warms my soul when Van Morrison comes on and I look around and everyone is being real and there’s a moon above us, and the best mutt in the world is lying at my feet. So yeah, here’s a feast of Chinese food: cheap, unhealthy, working-class gold. Relish in it.

Side-note: How did relish get its name? It is not that good.

Leo Duncan. Our terror of a baby.  He’s a biter.

Playing out on the hill, he starts eating mouthfuls of mud and grass (extremely risqué at this point in his life, probably not) so I pick him up—and it was the first time I could tell he was not playing as his teeth sunk into my arm. It was malicious action.  You can imagine how I felt. Abhorred. How could my baby be like this? Well I didn’t have much more time to think. I said, “Leo, you need to calm down.”  (In a very calm voice in case any of the neighbors were watching.)  Well that didn’t work and, him being in my arms, I had no free appendage to restrain him, so I did what any one would do. I bit that dog’s ear hard. Had to be done. He squirmed and bit down again and then, poof, calm.  I felt like a dog whisperer. And I hoped my asshole neighbors were watching. Because they’re next--the scheming' bastards! (You know that last phrase was yelled in a Scottish accent.)

All ugliness between us aside, Leo is a lover. Now he knows not to fade his Papa, or so I hope.