Eating the family dog

by Regis Boff

It is tough to cleanse yourself of a childhood suspicion that you may have tasted the family dog. Our animals disappeared with a regularly that subconsciously insisted there might have been a scheme by my father to cut corners at dinnertime.
Our dogs were distinguished only by their “freeness.” A pet would die, and the very next day, a new one would show up in our father’s arms. Never, a puppy.
We were overjoyed if the animal came with a tail. The secreted assumption was that our father would drive a reasonable distance from our home, then steal somebody else’s dog and bring it back to us. Surprise!
It was the getting of anything new that annoyed him. Forcing himself to buy a replacement meant that the original had somehow failed him. He once explained to me that the only animal worth its sticker price was one of those “goddamn parrots” because they ate seeds and might outlive him.
Mind you, the only times I saw him cry was when one died.

PUBLISHED: February 18, 2019
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds