The family compound has taken on yet another resident, my flock. In addition to the gaggle of geckos receiving tutelage in Ayatollah Mugsy's Boarding Home for Wayward Lizard Youths, we now have a new dog in the house.
He arrived sometime this morning and took up a position beneath one of the large bushes in front of the ayatollah compound. Everyone in the family started hearing noises early in the morning, and Wendell and I went outside several times to investigate. At first we thought perhaps it was the neighborhood urchins at play, but there was nary a child in sight. Then the whining sound grew louder and more frequent. Father, suspecting a possible feline intruder, slowly opened the front door and peered outside. And then he saw the black creature cowering and crying. After a couple of biscuits and some sips of water, the puppy's mood began to improve, but he was still extremely timid.
When he was first introduced to Wendell and me, the poor shaking pup curled up against a kitchen counter and wet himself. "There, there," I said, "my presence often elicits such a reaction among the excited faithful. Just calm down and make yourself at home, my brother." Slowly, we began to build a rapport over biscuits and rawhide bones, which he sadly did not know how to chew. Naturally, I demonstrated the proper form. It wasn't long before the newcomer was bounding around the house looking for shoelaces and electrical cords to chew on.
Since the pup had no collar, father drove him to a local veterinarian's office to see if he had an embedded microchip. Alas, he did not. Father stopped by another local vet's office, but nobody there recognized the dog, either. So Wendell, using his superior typography and design skills, printed up a batch of "Found Dog" fliers, which father posted around the neighborhood. We also put an ad on Craigslist. It is nearly midnight, and nobody has called to claim the pup. A shame, since he has a splendid personality and incredibly soft fur, especially after we gave him a bath.
We've been trying to come up with a suitable name for the lad -- mother likes "Jackson," after an exclamation in a Gaslight Anthem song. Father suggested the Sinatra homage "Ol' Blue Eye," a nod to the dog's one pale blue eye. The pup hasn't really responded to any of the names we've tried, so we may keep working on it. But if we don't hear from his rightful owner, the name decision could be yours to make -- we'll need to find him a good home.