I Was
Schicklgruber's Dog
(History Rewritten)
by R L Tilley
It
was 1908 and Schicklgruber was down on his luck.
He had applied for entry to the Academy of Arts
in Vienna but his application had been rejected
and now his money was running out.
He
wandered the streets selling postcard impressions
of Vienna to passers by and he would sleep on
park benches and eat from soup kitchens at night.
I was
down on my luck too. A sorry looking German
Shepherd.
I
suppose he felt a kinship with me, given that he
was enamoured of things German.
He
fondled my coat and fed me scraps and we wandered
the streets together, he pale, scrawny and hungry,
and me, shaggy and unkempt.
One
day, by chance, he sold a postcard to a Jewish
businessman who happened to be passing.
This
would prove to be a stroke of good fortune.
The
man, Herr Geldenschlab, sought us out a day or
two later.
‘Young
man,’ he enthused. ‘You have talent.
May I see more of your work?’
‘Sod
it!’ Schicklgruber, exclaimed. ‘I
destroyed it all in a fit of pique.’
He
had a bad temper.
‘Never
mind,’ Geldenschlab told him. ‘Permit
me to be your patron and agent.’
And
that is how it all began.
Through
the good offices of Geldenschlab,
Schicklgruber’s dream of artistic success
was realised. No more of those dreams of
dictating a boring book in a prison cell or
sporting a silly moustache.
Life
looked up for me too.
I was
Schicklgruber’s dog.
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