Woof, did I have a fascinatin’ time with 14-year-old Bonaparte Genel, a hansome red-haired Standard Poodle Snowbirddog who lives with his Mom, Elena, an Dad, Viktor, here an inna much-colder state called Massa-CHEW-sits.
His Dad met me an my assistant in the nice lobby, an THEN we rode all the way UP onna ELLY-vader. We get in an just stand there: The door closes, then opens, an somehow we’re right at Bonaparte’s front door.
He was right there to greet us an Woof! was he impressive: tall, great pos-chur, sorta short, light red/gold curls, which he later explained had faded from the darker red of his younger days. (He added that if he didn’t get it cut every 2 months, he’d turn into one Ji-NORM-muss fur ball.)
“SO glad you could make it, Bonz! (May I call you Bonz?),” he said, leading us into a sunny room where you could see the O-shun.
“Absolutely, Bonaparte!” I replied, introducing my assistant.
“Oh, an you can call me Bono. That’s YOU minus the Z! Cool Kibbles, doncha think?”
“Totally!” I replied.
“You’ve met my Dad. Mom’ll be here later. Do havva seat.”
We did. I opened my notebook, while my assistant (after getting the OK) reached into The Satchel for a coupla duhlishus Treats, which Bono gently dispatched in 2 seconds.
“I’m eager to hear your Tail!”
“As these tails often do,” Bono began, “mine starts with another dog Up in Massa-CHEW-sits in 1998, when Mom an Dad got Darbi, a red standard poo like me. I was born in 2011 out THAT way (he pointed), inna place called Sandy-A-go. Then, that same year, Darbi hadda go to Dog Heaven.
“Mom an Dad thought they’d wait a few months or a year buh-for gettin’ another buhloved poo; however, just 2 weeks later, they were checkin’ out a few breeders an saw my pickshur. I was little/bitty an had those Big Puppy Eyes an I was the Same Color as Darbi. It was a SIGN! So they got me. I got to ride in this speshul plane just for transportin’ pooches, with our own comfy cages in the CAB-in where hoomans usually sit, an our own uh-TEN-dent an everything. We flew to NEW-urk an THEN to Boston, where Mom an Dad picked me up. They hadda sorta clean me off cuz, durin’ that long flight, all us pooches hadda Do Our Duty, of course. Then we drove 4 hours to Massa-CHEW-sits an, jus like THAT, I was Part of the Famly!
“I was excited an also, at first, a liddle, well, WILD. I chewed stuff: my stuffy tiger, an my bed, well, ALL my beds. Then I’d make a big pile of all the stuffin’, right in the middle of the floor. I thought it was very avant-garde but, even though Dad’s an AR-tist, Mom an Dad didn’t agree.
“Later, I went to school at Dog Training Universe an ackshully got a TRO-fee! I liked Massa-CHEW-sits, speshully Cape COD. I hadda buncha of pooch frens there. My BFF was Bello, a Yorkie.
“Then there was our neighbor Stella. I couldn’t outrun her, like, EVER! We’d play Frisbee with our hoomans, an she’d ALWAYS get to the Frisbee WAY ahead of me. So, I came up with a PLAN.
I’d stop haff way an, as she was runnin’ back, I’d grab the Frisbee, bring it to Mom an Dad and get a reward.”
“Ingenious,” I observed.
“Truth be told, Bonz, I pretty much don’t do that Frisbee thing anymore. I mean, I’m my own dog. I don’t see the point, you know? An Dad doesn’t argue with that. Plus, I’m getting’ Up There, so I hafta take something called hemp, for my joints.
“Anyway, I finally stopped doin’ puppy stuff, an figured out what to NOT do. Mom an Dad say I’m Very Smart, which (not to brag) I AM. I learn by what they call, ummm, Risk/Reward. When I wanna DO something, I give it careful consideration to decide whether doin’ it is worth the risk, or whether not doin’ it will get me a reward. Maybe Yes. Maybe No.
“So, when Mom an Dad decided to build a house in South Cara-LINE-uh (cuz Massa-CHEW-sits is just too cold), we went to the place it’s gonna be built, to be sure I approved. It’s really pretty, lotsa room for me to play. So I bestowed the Wag of Approval.”
I was impressed.
“Later,” he continued, “when we were packin’ up, every-single-thing-in-our-entire-house was in boxes ’cept my fvrite TOY. I grabbed it an ran to Mom, an she opened a speshul box an I plopped it in and she wrote BONO on the box, so I wouldn’t worry. Even though the whole livin’ room was empty, I found the Very Spot on the Very Big Empty Floor where I always sat, an sat there, while Mom-an-Dad did Other Stuff.”
“Woof, Bono, that IS smart!” I said, with admiration. “So, I understand your Dad’s an ARE-tist. Are you one, too?”
“No, but I have a Spechull Job that is Very Important to his work. I am his MUSE. I in-SPIRE him. He cree-ates Big Amazin’ SCULP-chures outta what hoomans call Business Cards. They’ve been in lotsa mew-zee-ums an ART galla-rees.”
“What!” I said in amaze-mutt. “You mean, like MY card, that liddle thingy my assistant gave your Dad, with my pick-shure and contact numbers an stuff like THAT?”
“I KNOW! Right? Look!” Bono replied, pointing to the corner of the room. There was a very tall struck-chur made of lotsa colorful pieces put together in different shapes, carefully assembled in a very artistic way, I thought, to make one BIG skulp-chur. It was TRAY impressive.
“Woof! Bono! I’ve NEVER seen ANYthing like THAT! THAT is Seriously Crispy Biscuits!”
“And, not to brag,” he added with pride, “but I’m preddy sure I help Dad cree-ATE ’em. Just by being within reach, so he can pat me an friffle my ears an stuff, for encouragemutt.”
The time had gone by So Fast. Heading home, I was thinkin’ about charmin’ Bono and his excitin’ Snowbird advenchures. Then thinkin’ happily about my comfortingly predictable life with my gramma an grampa, my speshul chair, an nightly dish of yoghurt. To each his own, I say.
Till next time,
