A Dog is Mistaken for Computer Parts, a Painting Survives a Panic Attack, and I May Never Become a Great Artist
September 5th, 2006by Susan Henderson
NEW YORK-
Here’s a dog story my neighbor told me the other day.
My neighbor’s friend (I’ll call her That Idiot Samsonite Bitch for anonymity’s sake) lives in Manhattan.
That Idiot Samsonite Bitch has a big dog and it dies.
She calls the vet - Do they pick up dead dogs?
Vet says no.
She can’t bury the dog in her yard because she lives in Manhattan.
She doesn’t have a car because she lives in Manhattan.
She puts the dog in a suitcase and boards a city bus headed for the dump.
Maybe, like me, you’re thinking she could have tried another number before going for the suitcase, but she’s not you and she’s not me.
This is an older lady and she’s having trouble lifting the suitcase, when a guy offers to help her.
He asks, What’s in the suitcase that’s so heavy?
Embarrassed, she says, Computer parts, and the guy steals her suitcase.
Here, my neighbor laughs, “Isn’t that classic New York?” and I say “Yes,” but now I want to hear the happy ending.
Maybe I’m still a kid at heart.
I like to see a family of bears get a pesky intruder out of the house, a wayward son return home for a grand celebration, a feuding guitarist reunite with the band for one last show.
I’m thinking That Idiot Samsonite Bitch might break down in remorse, and the dead dog will get proper send-off with the NYPD playing bagpipes.
“And . . . ?” I say. “And what happened next?”
“Oh, she calls the police. They find her suitcase and the dog.”
“And then . . . ?”
“I don’t know and then,” she says. “It’s just a funny story.”
I’m thinking of a hot, dead dog bent in a suitcase and can’t remember the funny part of the story when I ask, “What’s the dog’s name?”
She says, “What?” like now I’m the weird one.
~
My husband, Mr. Henderson, is the type of guy who goes to the pet store and names all the pets.
Once he stopped in the middle of the highway to save a turtle.
If anything has fur on it, he wants to take it home.
We met when we were teenagers.
He was just learning how to reproduce paintings for theatre backdrops.
This is one he did when we first met.
He’s kept his old artwork rolled up in a corner at his office, where he’s a professor.
Some days, he brings our new rescued greyhound to his office.
This is Steve:
Pamela Anderson loves dogs like Steve.
When we got Steve, every vertebrae, rib and hip bone showed.
He has scars all over - some from collisions on the race track and some from sitting too long in a crate.
Until the day we adopted him, he’d never been in a house before.
He never played catch or rode in a car with his head out the window or had someone call him by name.
When you pet him, he leans his head into your stomach like he can’t believe it.
Steve likes Mr. Henderson so much, he whimpers when he’s gone.
Recently, Steve was having a day at the office when Mr. Henderson stepped out to meet with a student.
There was a bit of a panic:
Remember that painting?
And then Steve got up on the desk and couldn’t get down again.
~
Steve is learning that when we go away, we come back again.
He’s learning to climb stairs and he’s learning he has a name.
He’s learning not to eat things he finds in the kitchen sink, where he can reach flat-pawed.
He’s learning not to play with Mr. Panda because Mr. Panda belongs to our other dog.
He’s cool with both of our cats, but we keep a close eye because we don’t want him to mistake them for rabbits.
(I am not a professional artist, though I signed my drawing.)
~
I’ve already told you I like happy endings, so this story has one.
Actually two.
The first happy thing is that ripped paintings practically fit back together like puzzles.
And more importantly:
Steve is done with crate sores.
Wow, I must say that I’m a little speechless at the moment. The only that comes to mind is this…The Cohen Brothers should take this story and run with it…Crazy Steve and all.
Cheers…
ha! steve. great name. and what a good save. you guys bailed him out and he knows it. keep us posted on his happenings. i could see steve taking in those good pets. dogs love pets. mine does.
First of all, I love how you write, Susan. All the time. But especially this line: “When you pet him, he leans his head into your stomach like he can’t believe it.”
Secondly, although I really feel for Steve, I’d go fucking berzerk if I came back to my office and the dog had done that. Especially to that incredible painting. Guess I’m more of a cat person. They never do shit like that.
Rich, Reno, and Frank - Thanks so much for your comments, especially coming from amazing talent like you three.
Oh, is this beautiful, Sue, you teaching Steve how to be a dog, not a bet. We’ve thought about adopting a greyhound from Mobile Greyhound Park to keep Eddie company in his old age.
xo
I like how you write too. Your writing style makes me feel at ease. It makes me feel as though you must have a down-to-earth, soothing personality.
Pia - Thank you for a perfect note. And I highly recommend getting a greyhound brother for Eddie.
AD - That’s the nicest thing. Thank you.
I, like Mr. Henderson, have the same animal thing. Steve is awesome. Mr. Henderson is awesome. Obviously you appreciate that Steve shows his appreciation of art in interesting ways. You seem relieved of a sofa, more room for Mr. H to return to painting.
You do know that what you’re doing for Steve has made me a friend for life??
xo-LR
Oh, Steve leaning his head into your stomach when you pet him! That’s lovely.
I’d want to know the dog’s name, too. And I would also wonder about the dump. It’s horrible to think of the dump.
I love everything about this, Sue.
xo
Lance - For life.
Dawn - Thank you, wonderful writer.
Kaytie - Yeah, isn’t it awful? I’m going to call him Nigel. And Nigel should never have been in a suitcase en route to the dump, period.
Ellen - Thank you, sweet one.
Full of charm and effortlessly crafted. You possess the art of shaping the marvelous from the quotidian, Susan.
Thanks for the treat of reading this narrative.
–Kasper
Kasper, you are dear. And now that I have a genuine artist commenting, what do you think of my bunnies?
That’s one of the best things I’ve read all day.
Absolutely adorable, and wonderfully written.
I miss the excitement of having new pets - that was a regular thing as I was growing up. Now I’m just stuck with a cat that I’m allergic to. (I am not allergic to cats in general, just mine for what reason I don’t know.)
I used to have a chinchilla, but that was one of the ‘worst great ideas’ I ever acted upon. Chinchillas are wild animals - end of story.
I can’t wait to get my career stable enough to acquire a new pet.
A domestic one, that is.
It’ll be fantastic.
awwwww, i want to adopt a Greyhound soo badly. maybe someday when i get to live on my own somewhere. and i can take him/her for runs on the beach. my last girlfriend had a Rhodesian Ridgeback that loved to run on the beach and would swim out as far as i could throw sticks for it to fetch. those were good days… glad i found this story of yours Susan.
Kerri and Daryl, thanks so much for the comments, I just now saw them!
i think that dead dog story is an urban legend. i’ve heard it a few times from other people.
This is lovely, and makes me laugh out loud. My dog pushes his head in my stomach too — it seems like he’s putting all of his energy into receiving my affection. He’s a recent rescue as well. I hope you’ve had luck with Steve.
Hi Sarah, I’m so glad to hear from you, and so glad you got a rescue!!
How sweet. That story (well the bit about Steve) reminds me of how Cabal is when Neil (Gaiman) is not there. Anxiety, refusing to eat, crying when his beloved pack leader leaves (which is often). And, like Steve, a superb recovery.