Evil lurks in my happy household. It slinks silently under our tables, waiting for its opportunity to bite. It howls hauntingly in the moonlit night. And it sleeps like a coiled serpent at the foot of our bed, anticipating the sweet taste of human skin on its protruding leathery tongue. Only the devil himself could manage to disguise such wanton wickedness as an overweight yappy canine and place him in our holy household. Evil has a name, and it’s KOSHKA.
So you don’t think a ten-pound Miniature Pinscher could be the vehicle to which demons reclaim the earth? I beg to differ. My pup pleasurably pants at the way most humans dismiss him as just another lap dog. Don’t underestimate his wit and cunning. For instance, when he doesn’t get his way, say for a treat or a nice rubdown, he methodically hikes his toothpick back leg and produces a steady stream of yellow acid down the side of my sofa. All the while, his eyes are locked with mine. The knowledge of his ill deed is apparent in those beady soulless peepers. He is my punisher. Puppy payback is a real bitch.
When he takes time off from marking the household as his realm, Koshka, like the Mafioso he is, chooses to intimidate his underlings. If the kids get too close to his paw, he nips. When I try to lift him up to the bed for nite-nite, he growls and bares his teeth. I promptly toss him on the mattress like the great circus dogs that were shot out of cannons before him. He knows no fear. Even when my husband leans in for a kiss, he chomps down on his nose. I have been claimed as “his” property, much like the couch and the two-week-old stolen chicken bone that lies under our bed. It’s much easier to deal with the putrid poultry smell than risk having your hand chewed off by the great kin of Cerberus. Perhaps Hades would like to reclaim his pup? Or maybe he already has.
Much like a trip to Hades, mere mortals to our house find it difficult to gain entry. God help anyone who visits the front door. His sinister bark will drive back most Jehovah Witnesses, they’re heads hung down in prayer and their bibles open to Revelations. Even the other animals that are fortunate enough to stay here are under his power. Oh the punishment he afflicts on the felines. One cat in particular suffers the most. I can’t tell specifics due to charges likely being filed, but let’s just say sodomy and cross-species “dating” occur in the darker corners of their basement prison. I spray him with a water bottle when it occurs, but the liquid transforms to steam right before my eyes. Next, I’ll try some silver encrusted dog collars that have been blessed by holy water. We can’t let evil win.
How can a darling little doggy with floppy ears and sweet puppy breath transform into the hellhound from Ghostbusters? Gradually. We inherited Koshka from a military guy in Hawaii who couldn’t take care of him anymore. I say couldn’t, I mean wouldn’t. The puppy exhibited early markings of the great menace he would become later in life. The soldier was hushed about these seven signs, scared of uttering the misdeeds where the floppy ears could hear.
But I do blame the soldier for starting my dogs decent down the highway to hell. He named him Koshka, which translates to “cat” in Russian. It would be like naming your newest baby boy Swine or Baboon. Poor dog must know what a put down that is on his character. And although he does have catlike features, he probably decided at that time that he would not let his name or his looks take away from his bigger self.
In addition to his name, the way people tend to think of Koshka is in a family way. After carefully examining the bulge around his midsection, strangers constantly ask when his pups are due. Not only is he not pregnant, he’s also not a girl. Although for doggy costume contests, I have dressed him up as a burlesque dancer and Scarlett O’Hara. I’m sure this lack of gender identity has afflicted his tiny little mind. Not to mention that days after he was born, the breeders tied of his tail so that it would eventually fall off. Sadism is a learned trait. I’ve seen serial killers who have had fewer hard luck stories.
So what do you do with a demonic doggy? You love him. You restrain him from hurting others. And you feed him lots of fattening foods that may take a few years off his immoral life. But only the good ones die young. Which means Koshka might be with us until hell freezes over.