I brought Dog Sothoth with me because I was going to be gone for hours and it didn’t seem right to leave an animal — even one with red eyes and cloven paws — alone in the cold all day. I had things to do, mainly concerned with creating a pop-up gallery and a meander through the Market, but I was conscious that the Hound of Satan is unused to an urban environment and might well cause mayhem. Throat-crunching and leg-mangling. Poodle-eating. You know yourself.
So I asked myself thusly: How bad can it get?
The answer is this: worse than I could possibly imagine, but not in the way you might think. You see, for years I’ve been telling everyone I know how savage this brute is, how nothing is safe. Not child. Not neighbour. Not dog. Not cat. Not postman. Not policeman.
What happened? Dog Sothoth spent the entire day gazing up at people with those sad eyes, cunningly turned brown instead of the normal red, snuggling up to credulous young girls. Hug me. Daddy beats me. Licking my friends’ hands. Save me. Daddy is cruel. Climbing onto strangers’ laps. Won’t you please take me home? Daddy is evil.
I spent the day enduring the judgemental gaze of all the people I told about Dog Sothoth.
Liar, their eyes said. Evil, evil, cruel man. Awwww. Look at the lovely dog. Awwww!!
Luckily, I bumped into Wrinkly Joe, who was present when Dog Sothoth raced across the road and dismantled a neighbour’s harmless little lap-dog before running up the road spitting out lumps of fur.
What? I implored.
Wrinkly Joe shrugged. I know. What do you expect when you have the Hound of Satan for a pet?