My Brain Damaged Dog

Once upon a time I had a dog. He was my first dog, a large and beautiful Chesapeake Bay Retriever named, Arty. Arty was short for, Arty-moose, which had evolved from, Artimus, and, like his owner, he was an alcoholic. I want to make it clear that I never have, nor will I ever, condone giving alcohol to animals. It was by accident and, I admit, through carelessness on my part that Arty developed a craving for alcohol, and as there is no canine equivalent for AA I did my level best not to let him have any more. But, like alcoholic people, the alcoholic dog will find away. And though he tried, I believe I was always able to intercept him before he succeeded.

As a musician with a local band, it was my habit to sit on the floor of my bedroom in the old farmhouse I lived in, with a bunch of other long haired, alcoholic musicians, with my twelve string in my lap, my doggie at my side, a six pack of sixteen ouncers and, occasionally, a pint of my favorite cheap whiskey, Old Setter (go figure) at hand. Thus I found a way to de-stress in the evenings after work.

I was doing just that one night after a particularly grueling twelve hour work day when I happened to nod out in mid-strum. A short time later I was awakened to a sensation of seeping wetness under my thighs. At first I thought that, perhaps I had, maybe, accidentally wee'd myself. What I actually saw upon opening my eyes, however, was Arty standing, on somewhat wobbly legs, in the middle of a large puddle of beer and cheap whiskey, happily lapping up his fill of the impromptu boilermaker. Naturally I yelled as I got up and, startled, he took off for the door, in a staggering, round-about way. Now, as any dedicated drinker will know, it's often hard enough to get two legs to work properly when you're drunk; imagine it with four legs.

He made it to the doorway and would have made good his escape had it not been for the two steps leading from my bedroom down into the hall. He managed to get one fore-paw down onto the first step when he hesitated and, swaying a bit, he tried to coax his other fore-paw to join the first. Thinking better of it he tried backing up but, that ole' man Gravity had other ideas and wanted him to keep "a-comin' on down!" Which he did; all at once, and quite quickly. By the time I got to the doorway, Arty was stretched out in the hallway, snoring happily, and on his way to sleeping off his first drunk. Now, I am here to testify;....I am going toTestify;....let me tell you that I will TESTFY, that dealing with seventy pounds of hung over dog is noooooo...picnic!

I can look back on this now and laugh about it, but at the time I was worried that the dog would be terribly injured by this incident. However, other than having a penchant for knocking peoples drinks over during parties, he lived a long, happy, and slightly accident prone life. I miss him still......BP