Danny Trains Andrew (Again!)


Man oh man . . . did I have a restful sleep last night! Well, truth be known, the best part of my slumber was from 6:00 AM to about noon.

Hello fans o’ mine. It is I, Danny the Dog, here once again to regale you with my adventures.

I’m sure most of the planet knows me by now, but for those of you who live in the rain forest of Borneo, whenever the spirit moves me, I write about my adventures with my human. His name is Andrew and if he didn’t feed me every night, I wouldn’t mention him in my communiqués at all.

You all know how well trained Andrew is. He is so well trained, that life has become somewhat boring. So about a week ago, I decided to spice up my life by throwing something new into the mix. And it turned out to be so much fun.

You see, Andrew is very, very indolent. If it were up to him, he’d live like Jabba The Hut. I mean stay in bed all day, I don’t mean have a girl on a leash. Well, maybe if he could get away with it, he’d keep a girl on a leash. Why not? He keeps me on a leash!

Anyway, now to the fun part of my story.

Because Andrew is so lazy, he likes to sleep at least till mid-morning. I don’t really mind, I like to do the same; however, a week ago, I came up with a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself . . . and I do.

At this juncture, I must digress for a moment. You see, although I tolerate Andrew, I do not like sleeping with him. During the day, I have the bed all to myself, unless the lazy so-and-so decides to take a nap after a full day of doing nothing. Then I sigh, get up and go out to the galley (kitchen to you landlubbers). I like the floor there. It’s nice and cool. And of course, at night I sleep there. It’s better than sleeping with Andrew. Anything is better than sleeping with Andrew!

Okay . . . back to our story . . .  already in progress.

This is now our life together. I wake up somewhere between 4:30 and 5:30 AM and start a low growl in the back of my throat. Then I start wagging my tail so that it hits the wall. The THUMP, THUMP, THUMP is enough to rouse the dead, let alone Andrew.

When I first started doing this, Andrew thought I wanted to go outside, so after cursing me under his breath (don’t think I didn’t hear that Andrew!), he would get out of bed, get dressed and open the door. Then he would stand there waiting for me to run out so I could do my “business.”

Instead, I made for the bed and stretched out, hogging it all for myself. This went on for a few days until Andrew got hip. But with the growling and tail wagging, he can’t sleep anyway. Now he is trained to get out of bed at my command and then I have it all for myself. He doesn’t mind too much. He says that at least he can get a little writing done while I’m sleeping. Whatever that means.

I’m allowing him the bed as I write these words. But in a few minutes, I’ll get him up and tell him to go to work. Someone has to write his stupid books, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it.

So that’s it. Not a heart-pounding story this time, but very informative if one wants to train one’s human.



My Girl


I come from the projects. I ain’t no softy. In fact, I’d just as soon slit your throat as look at you. They have me now . . .  I was stupid enough to get caught after that gas station robbery. What was the big fucking deal? We got only forty bucks. The cops came a-shootin’. My man, Daryl, took a bullet to the head. Under the man’s law, I was charged with murder in the second degree because someone died in the commission of a felony. How do you like that shit? The cops didn’t have to shoot, we were not armed. Of course, I was convicted. It was an all-white jury. What else can a black man expect in America?

Now I am looking at twenty years to life. I sit in my cell and think of my girl. Her skin is light brown and her smile used to send me to heaven. But I can’t see her smile no more. Her name is Gloria. She was my life. Now my life is trying not to get shived in the food line.

Gloria has written me, asking to visit. I will not allow it! I do not want her to see me in a cage. I wrote her back and told her to forget me. Get her a man as unlike me as possible.

It really doesn’t matter anymore. I will not live my life in a cage. Big Dog runs the blacks in this place. He is big, I’ll give him that. We are in the yard . . .  the whites are on the far side … the spics opposite. And us niggers have the middle.

I rush at Big Dog looking like I’m holding a shive. I’m not. One of his lieutenants cuts me down before I can get close.

As I lay on the grass of the prison yard, my blood pooling beneath me, I think of my girl and of all the wrong choices I have made in my twenty years of life. But that’s cool . . .  there are no more choices that have to be made unless you want to ask me how deep I want to be buried.

Just for the record, it’s six feet.





He stumbled upon the treasure quite by accident. He was exploring in the vicinity when he happened upon it. His first thought was, “This cannot be real.” He approached it gingerly, not sure if it was not some kind of trick. Someone might be observing him right at that moment, and if he were to get near the treasure, spring out of their concealment and brand him a thief. But no one sprung from a concealed location, no one yelled for him to halt his advance. It seemed safe to move forward. When he arrived at the treasure, he bent down to touch it, just to make sure it was real. After one touch, he fled to better-known and safer environs.

That night he could not sleep for thinking of what he had discovered. He thought and thought of ways he could explain it to members of his tribe. If he suddenly showed up with the treasure, anything he said would be suspect. One does not find treasure of this sort every day. No, he would have to think this through.

The next day he went to the area of the treasure, but dared not get too close. Instead, he peered at it from a distance. It was still there, and untouched! For how long would it stay undiscovered? A fire burned within him to possess it. If not for the taboo placed on matters of this sort by the Law Giver, he would claim the treasure as his own. But no, the Law Giver would never allow it.

The second night after the discovery, as he tried to sleep, he thought perhaps the Law Giver would understand. Maybe he should approach her. Tell her of his find. No . . . then if she forbade him from keeping the treasure, it would be lost forever. Conceivably, he could bring it to his village and hide it from the Law Giver. However, where could he hide it? The Law Giver knew all.

Then he overheard the Law Giver speaking of the place he had found the treasure. “When they moved out, they told me they left a few things behind and if we wanted anything we were welcome to it. I’ve been too busy to go over there, but I think I’ll take a look this afternoon. Maybe there will be something Joey might like.”

Something he might like. Something he might like! Was she toying with him? Did she indeed know of the treasure? Later that afternoon, his mother called Joey to the front of the house. He was not allowed far from home because he was only five years old. He appeared right away. His mother said, “Look what I found next door where the Simms used to live. And there it was, the treasure!

His mother handed little Joey the bright red, toy fire truck that has caused him so much anguish. You see, even though it seemed to have been abandoned, Joey was afraid his mother would think he had stolen it. And in his home, stealing was the one thing his mother, the Law Giver, would never tolerate.