My Dog Tulip

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Man:
Silence, please!

Woman:

Take care, sir.

Joe:

My dog is an Alsatian b*tch.

Her name is Tulip.

I've never owned a dog

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

are prudes and bores #

# you smell my arse #

# I'll smell yours #

Choir:
# human beings

are prudes and bores #

# you smell my arse #

# I smell yours #

Joe:

When children are difficult,

the cause is often traced

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,

she would never let me

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 passed

a large and well-formed motion."

I sympathize with the general.

However, Tulip's bowel movements

caused me even greater concern

since she has

two small canine anal glands

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 jetsam of french letters

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.

She delivered herself once

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,

I hastened by, hissing at her

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.

They hurled insults after me.

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 uplift their hearts

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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