My Dog Tulip Page #5

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glancing at his watch.

Two cups of tea

were already poured.

I took mine up.

It was not tepid.

It was cold!

The striking thing

about Mrs. Plum's kitchen

was its cleanliness.

The kitchen was more like

a model ideal-home exhibition

than a room actually in use.

Mrs. Plum stood

in its perfect center,

holding in her arms the most

doll-like baby I ever saw.

I congratulated Mrs. Plum

on the beauty of her kitchen

and added that it was a marvel

to keep a place so clean

when it contained a dog.

And she answered

in her grave voice

that chum was not allowed

into the house

because dogs make things dirty.

Tulip was exactly

where we had left her.

I smeared her lavishly

with vaseline

and tried to hold her still

while Mr. Plum strove to guide

chum to a more accurate aim.

It was all of no use.

I realized

that our efforts to please

had turned into cruelty

and said,"we must stop."

Could it be,

as Mr. Plum suggested,

that she might relax more

if the action was transferred

to my own flat?

Tulip greeted chum

with infantile pleasure

and at once

instituted nursery games,

chasing him

or being chased by him

in and out of my flat,

scattering newspapers

like leaves in the wind.

Chum still found her attractive,

but of sexual interest

on her side, there was no sign.

Later on, we took them out

for a walk together

on putney common.

What was Tulip

trying to tell us?

Had I brought her to max

too early

and to chum too late?

Was neither dog personally

acceptable to her?

Or was her devotion to myself

all the love she needed?

Mr. Plum:

Here, chum! Good boy!

Come here, boy!

Come here, I say!

Will you do

as you're told?!

Chum!

Oh, I thought chum

was going to be like that.

Well, I don't like

to blame him.

We've had some jolly good

hikes together,

but, of course,

when you're married,

you've got other people

to consider,

and it's natural that the wife

should want one's company, too.

But I had left off listening

to Mr. Plum's

sorrowful reflections.

Cutting across our path

was a curious figure

who instantly caught

my attention.

I wouldn't be surprised

if she's a barren b*tch.

Too nervous and highly strung

for my liking.

Now, if it hadn't been

a sunday

and me having a young lad

with me and all,

I wouldn't have minded

unleashing one of me own

dogs on her here and now.

They'd soon find out

if she's a barren b*tch or not.

Uh, t-there aren't

m-many people about.

Can't we go over

into those bushes?

N-no one

would see us there.

I'd have been pleased

to try,

but I couldn't

in front of the young lad.

Did you give her a lead

at all?

You know,

prompt her, like?

There's ways

of stimulating them up.

Uh, vaseline?

Ah. You knew about that.

I wouldn't have minded

demonstrating it

on one of me own dogs,

if it hadn't been for

the presence of the young lad.

I had by now conceived

so intense a dislike

for this sickly faced youth,

who looked as though there was

little he did not already know

about the art

of self-stimulation,

that I could hardly keep

the venom out of my gaze

and asked irritably

whether he could not be sent

for a walk by himself.

The desire to instruct

is a powerful one,

and our lecturer

could not resist it.

He accordingly sent the boy off

with one of the dogs,

and then,

after a cautious look around,

demonstrated

upon the remaining animal

what transpires when one exerts

a slight warming pressure

on its member.

What occurred then

requires no further

enlarging upon.

And that was the end

of my attempt

to marry Tulip that season.

I had a lot of trouble

with the local dogs...

far more than I had had

in the winter.

It became quite a puzzle

to know where to exercise Tulip

when she was in heat.

The only fault

I could find with her

was that she was apt to spread

the news of her condition

by sprinkling the doorstep

on her way in and out,

which naturally brought

all the neighboring dogs along

in a trice

to hang hopefully

about the building

for the rest of her season.

Thereafter,

her walks became as harassed

as are the attempts

of film stars

to leave the savoy hotel

undetected by reporters.

Stealth, therefore,

was an essential preliminary

to success.

A single bark would undo us now.

Dogs would materialize

out of the very air

and come racing towards us.

Some were so small

that by no stroke of luck

could they possibly achieve

their high ambition.

And some were so old

and arthritic

that they could hardly

hobble along.

Yet all deserted hearth and home

and skirmished after us so far

that I often wondered

whether those who dropped out

ever managed to return home.

Well, then I lost my temper.

Scram! Shoo! Piss off!

I took to pelting the dauntless

creatures with sticks and clogs,

but Tulip instantly flew off

to retrieve them

and returned with sundry dogs

clinging to her bottom.

With all the intelligence

gone out of her eyes,

she would reach

a point of frenzy,

tearing my clothes or my flesh

with her teeth.

Most of our walks, therefore,

ended in bad humor.

And I was thankful to get home

safely out of reach

of our oppressors,

who, being unable to rise above

themselves in any other way,

remained where they were.

There was one mongrel

in my district

to whom Tulip was so devoted

that it was quite a romance.

He was a very small

and rather wooden terrier

with a mean, little face.

And I had only to

pronounce his name...

which was watney...

for her to prick up her ears

and lead me excitedly

to the public house

in which he lived.

The publican

would let the little dog out,

and Tulip would greet him

with all her prettiest

demonstrations of pleasure.

Every now and then, she would

place a paw on his back,

as though to hold him still

for contemplation.

What she saw or smelt

in this dreary, little dog

I never could understand.

During her heats, he practically

lived on our doorsteps

and, when she appeared,

clung like a barnacle

to one of her hind legs

while she patiently stood

and allowed him to do with her

as he would and could

or could not.

But when,

in the long intervals between,

she visited him in his pub,

he never found for her

more than a moment to spare.

Having ascertained,

with a sniff,

that there was nothing doing,

he would retire stiffly

to his duties behind the bar.

"Never mind, Tulip dear,"

I would say.

"It's the way of the world,

I fear."

The nicest thing for her,

therefore, it seemed to me,

would be to find her

an Alsatian watney.

Nancy:

"I have rented a bungalow

in Sussex for the summer.

"Owner accepts dogs.

"No need to look further

"if you are in search

of holidayaccommodation.

'N."'

Joe:
"i flxed up Tulip's

love affairs here in London.

"Can't possibly make it.

Joe."

"None of your dogs

"could possiblybe as good

as mountjoy.

"And Mrs. Tudor-Smith

"is frightfullykeen

on the marriage.

'N."'

Oh, this was Nancy's trump card.

Mountjoy belongs to some people

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