DAN'S PAPERS, June 12, 2009 Page 38 www.danshamptons.com
(continued from page 15)
“You are so, so misinformed.” “Did you ever have Alpo beef slices? It’s slow churned. Says so right on the can. And it’s delicious. Yum.” “They bought you.” “They love us. They scratch our bellies. We come when they call. They give us treats. We sleep at their feet. They bring friends with dogs over. We bark at intruders.” “You are slaves.” “Not at all. We never work. Not a minute. Not a day. They are OUR slaves. They brush us. They groom us. They wash us. They give us dog bones. They tell us how much they love us. They take us for rides in the car.” “The cars were their downfall.”
“You had to be there. It is so fun. You put your head out the window and open your mouth and your cheeks puff and your tongue lolls around. There are new places, new smells, new adventures.” “People still have cars?” “Yeah.” “We are so disappointed in you.” “I’m sorry then. Would you like me to bring you a stick? Wait, I’ll get you a stick.” The dog runs off. “This planet has just suffered through the greatest catastrophe in the entire universe, and he is going to get me a stick.” The dog returns with a stick and sets it down. He is respecting the alien. The alien
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doesn’t care. He thinks, “I’ve come back down here to see if all the humans are gone yet. And they are not. There are enclaves of them, still trashing everything, still garbaging up the planet.” He turns to the black lab. “How could you DO this? How could you let this happen?” he booms. The lab takes a few steps back, and then sits. The alien starts laughing insanely. Then he stops. “Sit,” he shouts. “Stay.” The lab does not move. “Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless,” he mutters to himself, shaking one of his two titanium heads. “How could Bar Jarell have thought…” “What?” “Nothing.” “Do you want me to come with you?” the lab asks brightly. “You’d do that?” “Yeah. You look neat.” “Hopeless. No, I do not want you to come with me. But answer me this.” “What?” “I last came here to scout around 10 years ago. Are there fewer of them or more of them?” “Humans? Fewer. A lot fewer. And they yell at each other a lot now. It’s not good.” “What do they yell about?” “Rules. And other people. And their leaders. They say that’s who’s to blame. Their leaders are ruining everything. I heard them say today that Florida has just gone underwater. So we can’t go there. Not that I’ve been there. I don’t even know where Florida is.” “Too many cars,” the alien says, “too much carbon, too much crap in the atmosphere, rising temperatures, melting ice caps. Now they get Florida underwater.” “Don’t go to Florida,” the lab says. “That’s some free advice. Me to you.” At that moment, a voice far away, apparently from the house over the dunes, calls out to the dog. “Bosco. Here, Bosco?” “Bosco?” the alien says. “That’s my name. You sure you don’t want me to come with you? You look really nice. Do you have a name?” “Just go. It’s too late now. Go to your masters, or whatever you call them.” “Okay. Bye.” And the lab trots over to the alien, pees on one of his legs, then runs off at a brisk trot. “We had such high hopes for the dogs,” the alien mumbles to himself. He shakes the leg that got peed on. It jingles. “Well, soon they’ll be gone too. Everybody will be gone. I’ll come back in 50 years. Then we can land here and set up something again.” The alien raises a finger on one of his hands and points to the sky. “Grxozzzylwnz Wnbqqrps” he says. Suddenly, he starts to shimmer, then shimmer some more, and then poof, he’s gone. The voice again wafts over the dunes. “Bosco? Good dog. What a good dog. Oh, Bosco. Want a bone? No? You always want a bone. Change your mind? Okay, maybe later. What?”
Published on Jun 12, 2009
Dan's Papers, the 51-year-old bible of the Hamptons, is owned by Manhattan Media, a multi-media publishing company based in New York City,...