Dog Talk &
Ripov/1
by Albert Russo
On Wednesdays, Ripov walked
Toby, Mrs. Lippincott's terrier. Mrs. Lippincott
often complained about her dog, saying things
like, “He's a monster, yesterday he barked
at my bridge partners and scared them away. I had
to lock him up in the cellar.” Or, “Now
he refuses to touch canned food... goes and
steals my Swiss chocolate from the pantry. With
all the pains I took to train him!”
The last time Ripov picked
up the terrier, Mrs. Lippincott threw a fit:
“The bastard! He relieved himself on my
Chinese carpet because Mister couldn't stand the
presence of my new boyfriend. Take him away, for
God's sakel To a witch-doctor, to a mental
institution, anywhere. Better an alley cat to
this, this....” And she slammed her front
door on Ripov and his growling protégé as
though they were two accomplices.
Ripov knew Toby to be a
gentle animal, with him anyway. Toby was still
shaking with anger, then, after having crossed
over to the opposite side of the street, he
bristled his hair and gave a ferocious bark in
the direction of his mistress' apartment.
Ripov waited until Toby let
off the steam he had bottled up during the last
seven days. They were both deep inside the park
when Ripov addressed his four-legged friend. He
wanted to hear Toby's version of the events.
Was it true that Toby did
all the things Mrs. Lippincott accused him of?
Yes, indeed. Shouldn't he be a little more
indulgent towards humans? This wasn't the problem:
Toby held no grudge against mankind. It had to do
with the Lippincott person only.
Ripov knew a gentle vet who
could give Toby a treatment of sedative cookies.
Toby started growling again. His nerves were on
edge because of the Lippincott creature.
Otherwise there was nothing wrong with Toby's
health. She was the one who needed a mental
institution.
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