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November

Itís getting quiet. Fall, the quiet season. Time of peace. Iím looking out of my window, watching the poplar trees that have been cleared by the Fall. Only a few branches are left, no leaf, no birdís nest. Everything wiped away by Mother Nature and daddy Fall. Iím sitting in my armchair, caressing my fuzzy St. Bernard dog. Oh! Heís not there. I remember that I actually never had a dog. Because they disgust me with all their slavering, barky-barky, shitty-shitty, eaty-eaty, sitty-up-and-beggy, and all that stuff.

A couple of days ago, I saw a young punk girl leaving the newspapers store, meanwhile her dog had dared to move. This drove her mad. She demanded: "Brat! Didnít I tell you not to move? Didnít I? Eh, Iím talking to you! Didnít I tell you?" What was the dog supposed to answer? He didnít remember, so he shrugged his shoulders.

Intelligent animals, those dogs. But itís a slaveís intelligence: fetch the stick, shake hands, hold the leash in your mouth Ė what a humiliation!

Berlin is really the capital city with the highest dog density in the world. Friedrichshain, the poor neighborhood where I live, must be called the capital of Berlin, at least in terms of dog density. When Iím walking through my street and a mastiff is running in my direction I may jerk for a second. The mistress calls back her beast at the very last moment but she wonít shout at him but at me: "Well, sure the poor thing gets aggressive if you raise your hands." Oh, sure. Will all Berlin inhabitants soon be forced to subscribe to "Behavioural dogs studies" for their next survival tour through the streets?

Itís getting quiet. Fall, the quiet season. Time of peace. Iím looking out of my window, watching the poplar trees that have been cleared by the Fall. Only a few branches are left, no leaf, no birdís nest. Everything wiped away by Mother Nature and daddy Fall. Iím sitting in my armchair, caressing my fuzzy St. Bernard dog. Oh, I donít have a St. Bernard. Thatíd be great, a St. Bernard. But it would have to be stuffed.


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