THE CANINE LORD
One day as I loafed around, my keen eyes alighted on the delicious, 5-star-quality left-overs in the garbage-pile, next to a palatial mansion.
The left-overs were plenty enough to give indigestion at least to ten stray guys like me, and to a hundred stray animals.
I thanked the heavens for the obscene inequality for the once-in-a-lifetime access to the dream delicacies.
My hunger, long reduced to ashes in its own fire, was revived like a phoenix by the fragrance; it pecked at my entrails with the merciless sharpness of a raven.
But alas! I had hardly embarked on my nosh up, when the royal canine, tethered to the tremendous gate of the mansion, got jealous at my bliss. It started yelping and yapping and yelling at me as shrilly as its delicate vocal faculties allowed it.
That disturbed the siesta of the still more delicate Mistress of the Mansion, forcing her to the real world outside her air-conditioned universe.
What she encountered was the most hideous sight of her life: a pauper, who hardly had a bath for weeks and or a shave for months, barely clad in rags, and offensive to all civil decencies, feasting merrily on the delicious left-overs!
Either it was my malignant mien, or my satiety (something unknown to the wealthy), or the paranoid instinct of the rich - she lost all her cultivated composure; her size-zero frame could hardly contain the volcano: I was scared lest her anger bursts her fragile fiber-glass-figure.
One of the exalted tribe, with its trust in animals, and innate distrust in men, she promptly let loose the doggie at me. Once un-tethered, there was nothing that would stop that loyal slave.
I was in no mood to fall prey to that blue blooded son of a bitch (no pun intended). Wisely I crossed over the road; once at safe distance curiosity took over me.
The Canine Lord had no interest in me, whatsoever.
Always used to the high society, it was quick to climb up to the very top of the garbage heap, sniffed it elaborately, encircled around itself, looked satisfied, and as if to show to the world whom the territory- along with all its spoils- belonged, leisurely pissed, alas, on my coveted delicacies.
Once relieved so ceremoniously, and with a face radiating with superlative ecstasy, it victoriously declared:
"Praised be the Mistress Who throws Us the Bone!
All Our Loyalty licks Her Royal Feet alone;
Away you tramp! Hoot, hoot your hunger,
We’re the Pedigree Canine Lord in the Manger!"
One day as I loafed around, my keen eyes alighted on the delicious, 5-star-quality left-overs in the garbage-pile, next to a palatial mansion.
The left-overs were plenty enough to give indigestion at least to ten stray guys like me, and to a hundred stray animals.
I thanked the heavens for the obscene inequality for the once-in-a-lifetime access to the dream delicacies.
My hunger, long reduced to ashes in its own fire, was revived like a phoenix by the fragrance; it pecked at my entrails with the merciless sharpness of a raven.
But alas! I had hardly embarked on my nosh up, when the royal canine, tethered to the tremendous gate of the mansion, got jealous at my bliss. It started yelping and yapping and yelling at me as shrilly as its delicate vocal faculties allowed it.
That disturbed the siesta of the still more delicate Mistress of the Mansion, forcing her to the real world outside her air-conditioned universe.
What she encountered was the most hideous sight of her life: a pauper, who hardly had a bath for weeks and or a shave for months, barely clad in rags, and offensive to all civil decencies, feasting merrily on the delicious left-overs!
Either it was my malignant mien, or my satiety (something unknown to the wealthy), or the paranoid instinct of the rich - she lost all her cultivated composure; her size-zero frame could hardly contain the volcano: I was scared lest her anger bursts her fragile fiber-glass-figure.
One of the exalted tribe, with its trust in animals, and innate distrust in men, she promptly let loose the doggie at me. Once un-tethered, there was nothing that would stop that loyal slave.
I was in no mood to fall prey to that blue blooded son of a bitch (no pun intended). Wisely I crossed over the road; once at safe distance curiosity took over me.
The Canine Lord had no interest in me, whatsoever.
Always used to the high society, it was quick to climb up to the very top of the garbage heap, sniffed it elaborately, encircled around itself, looked satisfied, and as if to show to the world whom the territory- along with all its spoils- belonged, leisurely pissed, alas, on my coveted delicacies.
Once relieved so ceremoniously, and with a face radiating with superlative ecstasy, it victoriously declared:
"Praised be the Mistress Who throws Us the Bone!
All Our Loyalty licks Her Royal Feet alone;
Away you tramp! Hoot, hoot your hunger,
We’re the Pedigree Canine Lord in the Manger!"
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