The wet grab; the moist snag; the way you are supposed to have an urban pooch. Goddam canine control. I’m going to have to raise the same image that some contemporary comedian used recently: that of the human being walking after the dog and picking up the dog’s shit. The punch line: “And just who is the master there?” Some snap on a snare drum. The audience howls. A human being, and I know him, walks behind his dog and hopes that nobody will see the dog shit. Then this human being looks the other way, pause a bit, and walk back to the sidewalk. Leaving the pile. Leaving the pile to the earth, for some kid to step in, for the next dog walker to mush. This dog owner- generally not an urban sort- does not enjoy doing the wet nab, the plastic baggie over the warmth, the recent heat, the smell, the gag reflex, does not enjoy at all and will often employ the avoidance technique.

Futuro is not my dog. He is PJ’s dog. Futuro is part lab and part pit bull. When you look at his jaws you see the pit bull. They are wide, thick, muscular. He carries the typical pit bull cranium and jaw structure. He looks like the Joker when he’s panting