Living with two Jack Russell Terriers ain’t for the squeamish. Peyote did not get his nickname “The Alligator” out of thin air. He earned it. Sadly so. Dead birds. Dead opossums. Dead rats. Dead cats. Dead “you name it”, it has been brought into my house with pride and enthusiasm to thank me for the deliciousness of all the canned food.
The Alligator exhibiting his usual reptilian smugness
Peyote’s killer instinct apply to non-living things as well. Sadly so. Carpeting. Window ledges. My talking PeeWee Herman doll, my Pinocchio with retractable nose. All is fair in love and war.
He obsessed non-stop over a minuscule stuffed lamb doll my mom had sent me for Easter along with life-sustaining Belgian chocolate. If that doll laid on a high table, Peyote would sit and bark and whimper at it it for hours. He drove me NUTS.
One early morning, as I walked into the living room, I noticed a black mass on one of my leather seats. I turned on the light. There was a dead black bird stuffed head first in the corner of the seat. Nice!
Then something got my attention on the adjoining seat. Something white. Stuffed in the corner.
There it was. The Easter Lamb. Jammed head first in the corner a la black bird.
An artistic vision by The Alligator. Mirror images of death. The virginal lamb and the dark raven. Good and evil. Passing on the Cantoni furniture. Talk about a statement…
That previous week, I had switched to “the more expensive than that you die” Cesar cans and I guess he felt compelled to show more appreciation than usual. We have since reversed to the cheap cans. For obvious reasons.
