Dognapped

benj · 12-06-2003, 11:51 PM

I wrote this the other day for fun and I really enjoyed it. Anyway, it is based on the actual fact that my dogs are missing.

I have come to believe that they were dognapped. The pounds don’t have them, the streets haven’t revealed them, and they are definitely not hiding under our beds. No, they have been taken in by strangers. Christmastime is coming and it means many parents are on the lookout for cheap new puppies to pacify their children’s requests. Someone has our dogs.

I am not surprised, really. People have stolen a lot from us over the past few weeks. My brothers’ scooters were snatched while they slumbered; just yesterday someone took the radio out of my mom’s car, parked in what seemed to be a secure parking garage; I had a wallet of 12 CDs stolen from my own church; I thought someone stole my car the other day. It turns out I just forgot where I parked, so that one doesn’t count, but it was close to being stolen, I’m sure. Now our dogs join the ever-growing list of pilfered Pocta possessions.

To steal a car stereo, scooters, CDs, to consider stealing my car, these are all things I can understand. Stealing a dog? I have no idea how you can steal a dog. A dog has memories, I imagine. It can recognize these new strangers are not their original loving owners (us). Given, one of our dogs is quite stupid, so stupid, in fact, that we didn’t really give it an official name. Still, as stupid as dear “Puppy” was, he still vaguely understands what is going on. I just can’t imagine the rationalization you’d have to go through when you looked into the teary eyes of these two wandering dogs (I assume they miss us terribly and weep openly) as you scooped them up and take them home to your 2.3 kids (I assume they are an average America family, save the Snoopy snatchin’).

I imagine the father discovered the dogs, probably on his way home from work. Perhaps on any other day he’d say to himself, “There are two dogs out on the loose, someone better call the pound.” On this day, however, this father of 2.3 enticed my puppies into his big Astrovan with no seats in the back. He probably spots their tags immediately, rips them off, and tosses them to the ground with a wicked burst of laughter. They are his now, he reasons. He shoves them in the van and slams the doors shut. He probably revs his engine a couple of times before he peels out towards home thinking how much his 2.3 little ones will love their early Christmas present Santa delivered to their father personally (he probably lies to his kids about Santa too…. the bastard).

The rest of his family, even his wife, is left in the dark as to the true circumstances surrounding the recent dog acquisition. The father probably changes the subject or says, “Like I told the kids, it was Santa, dear,” when his wife asks where he really got the dogs. I think the wife has a feeling deep down about the disgusting secrets hiding behind the Santa story. She won’t question her husband any further after awhile and will soon forget about these suspicions.

The 2.3 kids are more naïve then their mother, for they are only children. Perhaps they still buy into the Santa story. They have bought into it for years. To these little brats, Santa is the source of all the good things they have gotten in their short histories, save birthdays (though they suspect Santa has ties to birthdays, as well). Regardless of their Santa persuasion, they have no time to think about the origins of their new puppies. With animals and children there is an intense focus immediately upon confrontation. Kids love dogs, dogs love kids (yes, even kids of despicable men). The kids won’t be thinking, “Hey, where’d these dogs come from” anymore than the dogs will be thinking the same of the kids.

The first few weeks following the dognapping will be a stressful time for the father. He will have to make sure his wife and kids don’t see the signs we will put up. Surely they will recognize their new dogs on our signs, so he will be busy taking our signs down. He will also be extra cautious not to let our dogs play in his backyard. His neighbors will be apt to notice he has recently obtained two dogs at the same time two dogs have been said to be missing in the same neighborhood. This is a suspicious thing, and any suspicion must be avoided. Walking the dogs will be a no-no, as well, because he knows we will recognize our own dogs. He must be in some sort of moral agony at this point. Or perhaps he is more preoccupied with paranoia.

I imagine we will find the collars soon enough, sitting in the middle of some nearby street. They will be cold, possibly still clinging to some strands of black or white hair our dogs left behind as a keepsake for the collars they might never see again. Maybe the man is nervous he might have touched the metallic tags and we could use the tags to obtain his fingerprints. Evidence. Maybe he retraces his steps and tries to find the collars and burn the evidence. Maybe he doesn’t risk it, it would look exceedingly suspicious for him to pick up some collars with leather gloves on and wipe off any stray man fingerprints as he took them to be burned. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d be caught immediately.

I think his family might wonder why they always kept the shades drawn and blinds closed. They might wonder why they keep the lights out and just sit, hoping the dogs don’t bark. Why is daddy so scary, mommy? Why is daddy so scary? Mommy can’t answer her two and three-tenths children, but I can. If only I could answer these children face-to-face, I would coolly say to them, “Your daddy is one of the most despicable human beings to ever walk the face of this earth. He is scary, very scary. He needs to be put out of his misery, kiddos. He is trash, and you are his kids, making you even lower than trash. Yeah, that’s right, cry, you big babies! I’ll be taking my dogs now… Oh, and one last thing: Sic ‘em, dogs!”

At this point the dogs would recognize me and obey my command. The terrible father would be mauled as he cried out, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would hurt anyone!!!” Olive, my smarter dog, would say, “You took the best years of my life from me, you sick son of a *****!” She would quickly look to “Puppy” and say, “No offense to you, of course.” “Puppy” would stare blankly the way he does and go back to mauling the monster.

After the man was sufficiently mauled for his sin against my family and my dogs, my dogs and I would walk off into the sunset headed home again. Well, we’d walk off in the direction of the sunset, I mean. That would be west, I suppose. So, that means the dognapper lives east of here. Oh, that’s a good lead, I have to go!