13-048
WHY I ATE MY DOG’S HOMEWORK
As I entered my therapist’s
office, I heard a familiar voice barking at her. It was my buddy, shaggy dog Calvino.
“You really need to do
something with him. He ate my homework
again.”
“Well what do you want from
me to? I can’t control him – he’s your
human.”
“Talk some sense into
him. That’s what you get paid to do,
isn’t it?”
“Well, no, that’s not what I
do. I believe my role as a therapist is
to help your person achieve self-actualization.”
“Him? Oh, Brother! That’s funny!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“I’m standing right here,” I
said.
“Oh, Mr. Oldman, you’re early
but do come in. Have a seat.”
“Yeah. Sit, Oldman.”
“Obviously Mr. Calvino is
distraught over the fact that you continue to eat his homework.”
“And psychically traumatized,”
interjected Calvino, “let’s not forget that.”
“Oh, Brother.”
“Exactly what sort of
homework, Mr. Calvino?” asked my therapist.
“A strawberry ricotta soufflé
for my pastry class. Oldman could never
make one, he’s all opposable thumbs.”
“Is that why you ate Mr.
Calvino’s homework? You resent his
talents?”
“Well, I do resent his
supposed superior attitude towards me.”
“Go on.”
“For one, every Sunday he
fetches the newspaper and reads the News and Arts sections. Only later does he throw me the Sports and
Comics sections. It’s insulting.”
“Because you feel he is
insulting your intellect?”
“Oldman never had an interest
in the other sections.”
“That’s beside the point – if
I were given an opportunity, I’m sure I would develop a taste for those sort of
things – eventually.”
“Ha!” Said my best friend.
“If you wish to believe that, Mr. Oldman,” said my therapist.
Anything else, Mr. Oldman?”
“Skunks!”
“Skunks? What about skunks, Mr. Oldman?”
“He can’t keep his paws off
of them.”
“Oh, here we go,” said
Calvino.
“It’s true. 2 in the morning - I hear ‘let me out, let
me out! I really got to go.’ I let him out – next thing I hear is ‘I’m
going to get you – You can’t hide from me.’
Then ‘Ahgg!’ How many times? How many times with the smell and the tomato
juice and the soap and water?”
“Okay, a number of times –
but really who knew? Each time it was a
different hour, a different place, a different skunk – perhaps I’ve been overly
influenced by Lao-tzu and Hume.”
“Sure, put the blame on other
dogs.”
Calvino bared his teeth and
snarled, “Redheads! I have skunks and
you have Redheads.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Redhead driving the
vintage Kharmann Ghia. How did that
turn out?”
“Not well. Bad Karma.”
“The Redhead at the
Valentine’s Day Dance?”
“Broke my heart.”
The Redhead at the Yankee
game?”
“Struck out. But it’s not the same as being stupid about
chasing after skunks.”
“Actually, it is,” said my
therapist.
“Can we get back to why you
ate my homework now?”
“Sorry,” said my therapist to
my shaggy dog, “but our session has timed out.”