The Bullet went off out the country someplace and came back with a small dog.
“It’ll be great,” he says. “Satan’s terrier will love him.”
“Satan’s terrier will fucking eat him,” I tell Bullet, “and you can clean up the body parts this time because I’m not doing it again.”
We were both wrong. Satan’s terrier ignored him completely, like in one of those very scary alien movies where you can walk in among these terrible many-headed monsters that have just ripped your entire crew to pieces but they won’t notice you at all if you don’t think about them. They’ll just keep on dripping slime on the floor of the cave and wrapping up your crew-mates in alien wrapping-stuff to eat later.
Isn’t it a strange thing with monsters, though? Big earth-monsters like reconstituted Tyrannosaurus Rex give out a loud echoing bellow: GWOOOAAAAAGHH! The sort of a roar you’d expect a monster to roar at you just before biting you in half. GWOOOAAAGGGHHH!!! Yet somehow, your basic space-monster doesn’t seem to have the same vocal chords. No matter how big he is, he sounds like Barry McGuigan: SKREEEEEKK! I’ve noticed this with many monsters, but I don’t understand why it should be. It happened, for example, with the guy in the first (and in my opinion, the best) Alien. When Ripley blew him out the door and hit the burners, what did he shout when he was getting fried? Did he say GWOOOAAAGHHH? No he did not. He said SSKKKRRRREEEEEEKKKK!!!! Which I thought was a bit limp in the circumstances, and also a bit implausible as there would have been no air out there in space to transmit any sound anyway. But fuck him, he could have mimed: gwwwooooaaaagghhh.
So, no. Satan’s terrier didn’t actually rip the new little puppy to bloody pieces all over the kitchen floor. Satan’s terrier didn’t in fact pay the slightest heed to him at all. I think I read someplace that puppies have a special scent for calming bigger dogs, a kind of smell that says, hey, I’m totally harmless over here, chill Mofo. Or something like that. I don’t know what breed he is, but I think the Bullet said he was a cross between a duck and a hedgehog. Later tonight, I’m going to shove him out in the garden and see if he eats slugs.
We had a good old debate about names. Bullet thought he should be called either Joseph or Leonard. I thought Stephen had a good ring to it, or else maybe David. Eventually we compromised and called him Dermot. It’s better than Wayne, you know. Or Keanu Storm. Better for his educational future, and we don’t want other dogs making fun of him. We’re not sure yet about his schooling, but we’ve put his name down for several of the best academies and we’ve arranged grinds for next week, once he settles in a bit.
He’s a nice little guy, though he looks like he accidentally got caught in a tumble-dryer (as opposed to on purpose). He’s small and fat, and he has spiky sticky-up hair. Hmmm. Maybe we should have called him Páidí Ó Sé.