Category Archives: Fang & Claw

Open Letter to a Puppy: Robo-Chicken versus Santa Claus


Dear Calvin & Hobbes (and you know who’s who),

Man, was Christmas a bust. You didn’t lose a minute of sleep, got up at the regular hour and weren’t shocked by a thing.

Not that you didn’t get a shit ton of toys, every one of which you seemed to like. It’s just that you tear through every one of them. In minutes.

Jadie, I’ve seen you skin and quarter a tennis ball in the time it takes to shower. Charlie, I’ve seen you fray wicker.

So when a soft, white, fluffy, squeaky chicken decked in a flowered bandana showed up this month among the embarrassment of holiday riches (and i know who’s me), I didn’t give it much thought when I tossed it to you destroyers — beyond maybe ‘I wonder who’ll behead this?’ and ‘I wonder which turds will contain these dainty chicken feet?’

But, somehow, Robo-Chicken endures, undecapitated and undismembered. Feet, wings, even the flower bandana. Undeterred, the squeaky belly still works.

It’s the damndest thing. Jadie, you now use it as your dinner bell. Charlie, you love it so much you fetch it into the tub. You two will plant and wrench, one will hold the chicken by the head, the other by the feet, Robo-Chicken squeak-squawking the whole time.

Maybe that’s what you love. I know it’s what I do. Now, Robo-Chicken has become a bit of a family mascot — and stuffed Resolution for ‘23: To disregard disregard.

Not that I hold much of a hope for R.C.’s future. I wouldn’t be surprised if the undoing seam is loose already.

But aren’t they all? Your grandfather used to lament how quickly the kids got bored with Christmas gifts that took so much time to get just right. I see now what he meant.

Which makes your reaction to gesture, however small, that welcome. Who wouldn’t want to give a gift that’s played with til’ it breaks?

You know what? Christmas rocked. I hope your New Year’s is just as present.

So off with their heads! On the rack and have them drawn and quatered!

But do you have to leave it on my pillow?

Open Letter to a Puppy: ‘Off-Leash’

(Photo by Jed)

My tweedles,

Hear me out. I think I have an idea.

You know the dog park? The one with the trees and benches and picnic tables?

Let’s do a television show about it. Like Cheers or Community or The Office or Parks and Rec or any other show to rumble down Sitcom Boulevard in the past half-century of American television. But with poop.

The idea came watching you lose your minds while I was trying to collect mine. Television shows use locales to parade characters, plot devices, the occasional guest star. We’ve seen them in bars, apartments, offices, coffee shops, war zones.

But never a dog park.

How is this possible? Is training a dog that hard? Is doggie actor insurance that cost-prohibitive?

Certainly, Covid has rendered moot the question of whether domestics are family members. If anything, the pandemic has us questioning whether they’re the sane ones.

And you know the humans that show up at that park. They’re a helluva lot more colorful than the ones showcased in TV cubicles and coffee houses. Porn stars and social influencers, broken writers and actors breaking in, addicts and veterans, the lonely and the desperate, the lovely and the determined — we’re all drawn to this place.

I’m thinking we call it ‘Off-Leash,’ because we need the collaring, not you.

When was the last time you saw a TV show with an animal star? Lassie? Flipper? Rin Tin Tin? You dominate social media and damn near invented funny home videos. Yet you are not on network television.

Well let’s fix that (see what I did there?). Gather Cheddar, Trouble, Mochi, Sadie, Max, Toby & Clyde, Bennie & King Louie, Lola and, of course, Dodger: You guys are the eye candy.

Ears, too. Off-Leash must re-enact your fire drill. Every time a siren howls past the park, you chime in with matching wails, which usually ends with our standing ovations. That’s gold, baby!

Imagine the A-list Hollywood stars who would glom over each other so they and their furbabies could get primetime exposure; we’d have to fight them off. The Human Society and ASPCA alone would create guerrilla publicity that would embarrass human-based shows. Proceeds of special episodes would gear toward animal causes, particularly rescue.

The universe would watch this show.

I know what you’re thinking: Hollywood can never be trusted and fresh butt smells great. Well, focus.

Yes, Hollywood does tend to consume its young, but that’s where you come in. You keep motives pure.

You don’t care whether there’s a televised world middle ground where hounds and humans meet halfway. Just a real one.

So noodle on it, and get back to me with notes. Oh, and Happy Holidays. Who’s the genius that ate the Elf on a Shelf?