My Dog Tulip
Man:
Silence, please!Woman:
Take care, sir.
Joe:
My dog is an Alsatian b*tch.
Her name is Tulip.
before her.
Alsatians have a bad reputation.
They are said to bite the hand
that feeds them.
Indeed, Tulip bit my hand once,
but accidentally.
She mistook it
for a rotten apple
we were both trying to grab
simultaneously.
One of her canines sank
into my thumb joint to the bone.
Oh, well.
We... we all make mistakes.
And she was dreadfully sorry.
She rolled over
with all her legs in the air,
and, later on, when she saw
the bandage on my hand,
she put herself in the corner,
the darkest corner
of the bedroom,
and stayed there
for the rest of the afternoon.
She could hardly do more
by way of apology,
for she'd become
so hysterically excited
at the mere hint
of being taken out for a walk
that she rushes into the kitchen
to grab the vegetables
and scatters them
all about the corridor
as if they were rose petals,
marking her ascension
to heaven.
It seems to me
both touching and strange
that she should find the world
so wonderful.
# Piddle, piddle,
seal, and sign #
# I'll smell your ass #
# you smell mine #
# human beings
# you smell my arse #
Choir:
# human beings# you smell my arse #
# I smell yours #
Joe:
When children are difficult,
to their home.
And it was upon Tulip's
first home
that I blamed
her unsociable conduct.
She had originally belonged
to some working-class people
who, though fond of her
in their way,
seldom took her out.
She was too excitable.
For nearly a year,
she scarcely left the house,
but spent her time mostly alone
in a tiny backyard
while they were at work all day.
She could hardly be expected,
therefore,
to learn the ways of a world
she so rarely visited.
The only training
she ever received
was an occasional thrashing
for the destruction
which her owners discovered
when they returned home.
Alsatians, in particular,
do not take kindly to beatings.
They're too intelligent
and too nervous.
It was from this life,
when she was 18 months old,
that I rescued her,
and to it that I attributed
the disturbances of her psyche.
Thereafter it was clear that
if she could have had her way,
out of her sight again.
While I was extremely grateful
to the gallant stranger
who had come to my rescue,
Tulip's subsequent behavior
may have caused him
to regret his kindness.
The journey home
was, however, mercifully short,
and I held high expectations
of a less-fraught stroll
along the towpath of the thames
to my flat in putney.
She was so unused to
being out in the world
that she could not differentiate
between the swollen river
lapping the towpath
and a mere puddle.
She rushed into it
and immediately sank.
I hastened to her rescue,
but I could scarcely
help laughing
at the sight of her
when I heaved her out.
She was less amused than i.
This unexpected immersion
had one useful consequence,
however.
The coal dust in the yard
in which she had been confined
by her former owners
was washed clean away.
And so it was
that this beautiful creature
came into my life
and transformed it.
By the end
of that eventful first day,
she, too, had undergone
a metamorphosis,
from beggar maid to princess.
And it was i,
the somewhat shabby hero
of my own storybook,
who had rescued her
and won her heart.
In the journal
of general Bertrand,
Napoleon's grand marshal,
this entry occurs...
"1821, april 12.
At 10:
30, the emperor passeda large and well-formed motion."
I sympathize with the general.
However, Tulip's bowel movements
caused me even greater concern
since she has
which Napoleon did not have.
Therefore, hers required
twofold the supervision.
These canine glands
produce a secretion
which is periodically released
by the passage of a...
general bertrand-pleasing form.
If, however,
a dog is continually...
...loose in the bowels,
the glands become congested
and can form abscesses.
It was a misty
september morning,
and I had taken Tulip out
to relieve herself,
which she was peacefully doing.
It always pleases me to see her
perform this physical act.
Her ears lie back,
her head cranes forward,
and a mild, meditative look
settles on her face.
While we were
thus harmlessly engaged,
a cyclist shot around the corner
towards us.
Since Tulip
was safely on the pavement,
I would not have noticed
this person at all
if he had not addressed me
as he flew past.
Try taking your dog
off the pavement to mess!
One should not lose
one's temper,
but the remark stung me.
Joe:
"what?To be run over by you?
Well, try minding
your own business!"
I am and all!
He bawled
over his shoulder.
What's the
bleeding street for?!
"For turds like you!"
I retorted.
"Bleeding dogs!" he screamed.
"A**holes!" I replied.
There was no more
to be said.
I had had the last word.
Nevertheless, I am able to see
other people's points of view.
I know a few things
upon which it is a positive
pleasure to tread.
Whenever I take Tulip out,
therefore,
I offer her
the opportunity to drop twigs
where there are trees.
Here, amid the flotsam
and the swollen bodies
of drowned cats, dogs, and birds
left by the tide,
she is often moved
to open her bowels.
If not, we pass on to another
species of refuse dump.
The dead are less particular
and more charitable
than the living.
It is a charming
little cemetery.
To what better use
could such a place be put?
And are not its ghosts gladdened
that so beautiful
a young creature as Tulip
should come here for her needs,
whatever they may be?
Tulip sometimes
embarrasses me, too.
in front
of a greengrocer's shop...
and this on the way home from
a long walk on putney common,
where she had already left
as much as I supposed her
to contain.
I knew the grocer and his wife
were a surly,
disobliging couple.
Hoping that they would not
observe Tulip,
to"hurry up for god's sake!"
As I passed.
I glanced back,
intending to disown her
if she had been observed.
Tulip had just finished
and was following me.
But at that very instant,
the man and his wife flew
angrily out and caught my eye.
Useless now
to pretend ignorance.
Yet I continued on my way.
Woman:
Here! Mister!Look what your bleeding dog's
gone and done!
Then my conscience smote me.
True, they were horrid people,
but Tulip's gift would not help
to a sweeter view of life.
As soon as this noble thought
occurred to me,
I retraced my steps.
"I'm sorry about my dog,"
I said.
"But if you give me
some newspaper
"or a bucket of water
and a brush,
I'll clear it up for you."
It took me some time
to swab it up,
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"My Dog Tulip" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/my_dog_tulip_14323>.
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