Vida de Perro: Confessions of an Expatriate Cocker

It's Dark, It's Sad, It's Glam, It's Christmas.

2009-12-27T19:25:00.003-06:00

Forgive me, for it has been one month since my last confession. Time seems to have escaped me during this holiday season, and I have not had one minute to lie down and collect my thoughts until now.

My court was particularly manic during the festivities. The majordomo was busy preparing the mansion for the Christmastide, and at times I felt that I was literally trampled under foot in all the hysteria. Bourgeoning was her usual jolly old self, perhaps a bit giddier than normal (if you can imagine). I fancied that if she had dressed herself from head to toe in red and black (no political reference intended here), she could have passed for Old Saint Nick himself (especially with that ghastly oversized sack she carries around to go to the market). Of course, the jester was inebriated half the time off some vile tropical eggnog concoction that he tried to pawn off to every guest who arrived at the estate. However, I did notice that the maiden was unusually absent this year which was quite a shame because I rather missed her Christmas pudding and mince pies. I suspect she was off fattening up some other unsuspecting monarch only to plot another coup of his kingdom.

Unlike Miamishire, I noticed the villagers in my new land do not celebrate the season somberly. Instead of the soft caroling and peaceful gatherings that usually accompany Christmas Eve, here it was no silent night indeed. The occasion was marked with deafening fireworks, gunfire and smoke that I have not witnessed since the Battle of Waterloo. Ashamedly, all my canine brethren barked crudely at such volume that was unbefitting of proper townsfolk (my re-education program has been slow in its execution). I must admit it has been quite an interesting time of the year. Oddly enough, I am still waiting to be showered with my gifts. If I fail to see presents appear under the tree by the new year, I will be forced to implement the practice of waterboarding. I hear it has been quite effective on the Abbess.

The Noble Witherspoons

2009-11-26T16:20:00.003-06:00

I come from a long line of Witherspoons. Our heritage is quite noble, and our blue Cocker blood has never been tainted by some promiscuous poodle or a hyperactive chihuahua (in spite of the majordomo erroneously insisting in one of his mean-spirited rants that I will age to be a golden labrador retriever). I feel I must clarify that my lineage is in no way linked to one legally blonde Academy Award winning actress, though I have been told the resemblance is uncanny (in part due to having the same stylist and his penchant for bleach).

Sadly, I am the last living Witherspoon and currently have no successor to my throne. This is most likely another reason why I was exiled to this kingdom in the tropics. I suspect there was a conspiracy by the families around Miamishire entwined in greed and deception. They sought to depose me from my throne and instate some vixenish pitbull with a litter of six heirs. I have not the foggiest notion of how long that reign of terror will last for those peninsular people, but I imagine when the inevitable revolution occurs I will be reinstated as King. Though it has crossed my mind that I could be exiled again, and I fear I could follow in Napoleon I of France's footsteps and perish in a second exile. Right now I have learned to accept that I am living my own personal Elba and have learnt not to repeat the mistakes of my fellow vertically-challenged brethren. Though, as he said, it is the cause, and not the death, that makes the martyr.

The Ball

2009-11-22T13:35:00.006-06:00

I imagine having a gala in my honour was long overdue. I had been settled in my kingdom for several months now and had yet given the privilege to the local high society to kiss my royal paw. Of course the majordomo took care of all the necessary arrangements from sending out the invitations (to only those who were deemed worthy) to preparing the ballroom. Unfortunately the jester insisted on providing the entertainment. As I have mentioned before, I personally find the jester's humour somewhat tiresome and crass, but I figured the people here had yet to be sufficiently exposed to him before they heckle him out of town (as they most likely did in Miamishire which resulted in my exile). Besides, I imagined it would be quite entertaining to watch him offend the cat-loving Abbess, but to my dismay she did not attend (which makes me wonder if I had already had her imprisoned or beheaded).

The evening of the ball was quite pleasant. The guests arrived unusually punctually and slowly began to fill the courtyard. Oddly enough, I noticed the majority of the guests was composed mainly of men and very few women which makes me question either the social norms of this patriarchical state or the suspicious tastes of my cape-wearing majordomo. I must remember to revisit the guest list because the disproportionate ratio of sexes made the dancing a bit peculiar. From what I recall, I was not exiled to Ancient Greece.

After a couple hours of making the formal introductions to duke so-and-so and lady ga-and-ga (or was she actually a lord?), I grew bored of the trifling conversations that ensued. The jester was making quite the spectacle of himself as he was imbibing the local absinthe quite heavily. I cannot recall if it was his juggling act or his absurd imitation of Queen Anne which forced me to take leave of the festivities and retire to my chambers. All in all, the gala was a success though I imagine in the future I will be forced to placate this testosterone-driven crowd as their lust for merriment might be equal to their lust for war. A king must always think one step ahead of His people.

Dignity and Grace

2009-11-15T14:30:00.004-06:00

It was a pleasant Sunday morning for a stroll outside the palace. I summoned my coachman to bring the horses around to the main gates so I could be taken into the town center, el Parque Central (my tongue is slowly learning this pseudo Latin that the people speak here). Of course I choose to go into town without the pomp and circumstance to which I was accustomed in Miamishire. I fear the people are still uneasy with their foreign king, and I would rather not create any further distractions. Besides, going unnoticed allows me to observe my surroundings in their natural order. Once I take note of that which pleases and displeases me, I can make the appropriate changes.

Upon my arrival, I noticed the townspeople were milling about the square, going to and fro between the market and the church. My coach pulled up along side a line of horsedrawn carriages. The coachman avised me that with all the horse and horse manure in the streets, there is talk of putting diapers on these magnificent creatures (I suspect the dreaded Abbess is behind this conspiracy). Of course, I find this absurd (and the image appalling). Imagine the horses of my kingdom attempting to gallop with bloomers affixed to their grand derrieres. Every animal has the right to relieve itself with dignity and grace. I could not think of having the horses, or anyone for that matter, wallow in their own waste until they can be changed. Besides, my kingdom employs many people to clean and wash the streets. I suspect the economy would suffer if these dedicated workers were stripped of their honorable duties.

First Act: The Abolition of Incessant Barking

2009-11-08T17:06:00.005-06:00

Despite these recent events, my court tries not to subject me to too much chaos. The process of adaptation is by no means painless, and it does take time to acclimate oneself to a new environment. I have plenty of hours in the day dedicated to reflection. In my meditation, I have assembled a list of priorities that I must set into motion in my new land.

One priority is establishing a more effective means of communication among the dogs of my kingdom. I have noticed that at all hours of the day and night these canines engage in the uncivilised manner of shouting at each other. There is no proper etiquette, no demureness--only constant random incessant barking that, even though they are wretched creatures, are still an embarrassment to my species. I do not need to be exposed to the neighbors' bragging that their bellies are sated, they spied a lurking feline, or they just spawned a litter of eight. The latter is heard often and is the most appalling, but properly spaying and neutering is yet another one of my tasks at hand (if I divulged my plan, you might find my methods barbaric).

Personally I find the art of the blog much more refined, but then of course I would have to find ways censor any remarks that could be construed as derogatory toward my Person (Caninae). Perhaps the most effective manner would be mandatory education--speech and etiquette classes for all dogs of the land. They will be trained to speak, not shout, at a more pleasant decibel. They will learn proper King's English to rid their tongue of vulgarities, and obviously learn new forms of address and verb conjugation in a manner more befitting the respect of their Majesty. Until then, I must suffer the unintelligible rants of the multi-teeted bitch and her seven puppies and one scrawny runt.

Hollow's Eve

2009-10-31T17:01:00.005-06:00

The photo here is most humiliating, but I assure you there is a tale behind it. I know that I vowed I would speak no more on the subject, but today’s events have forced me to recount the unimaginable. In fact I find it very befitting since today is the day of Hollow’s Eve (which of course is an extremely pagan celebration in which I would never partake.) On such a day in year’s past, I recall during my reign in Miamishire that the common folk did some of the most barbaric acts by parading about the town in rather nonsensical dress. I suspect this is why the majordomo has several capes and an eye patch (to which I have referred earlier), but as a member of my court he must never admit to such overt displays of heathenism Oddly enough, here in my newfound land, the day is not even honored by the people. Rather they celebrate El Día de los Muertos, or our equivalent of All Saints Day, which is the subsequent night when families crowd the cemeteries to sleep next to the graves of their deceased beloved--a bit macabre for my tastes, but I digress.

Midday here had been particularly dreary, and I decided to retire to my chambers to take afternoon tea. All was unusually quiet (Burgeoning must have slipped into some post-dining coma), and then suddenly in mid sip, I heard a large thunderous clap overhead. My vision became cloudy, and I could only distinguish shapeless phantom-like figures creep under the door. The next thing I recalled, I was being whisked out of my room, up the narrow staircase and into the dreaded tower. And there it was. The long knobby arms of the bogeyman, my nemesis, had come alive, and in his hands was a lone hardened mango. Oh how he mocks my rule!

What followed I have no idea. I imagine several hours had transpired. The next thing I remember, I came into consciousness surrounded by my court. When I looked down at my paws, not only did I find the fibers of a stripped mango, but I had been dressed in this absurd costume. I suspect a couple members of the court carried their traditions from Hollow’s Eve into my new kingdom, and they thought they would have a bit of fun at my expense. The jester had a culpable smirk of self-amusement across his face (I must remember to send him to the block for solitary confinement). Looking back on what happened, I think it is odd that the devil had spawned one fruit out of season, but I now realize that my enemies will present themselves at any time of the year. If you look closely at the photograph, you can see the haunting orange glow of the mango in my pupils.

Downward Facing

2009-10-29T16:50:00.006-06:00

I have discovered in my new kingdom that the key to maintaining control is through self-discipline and meditation. It takes an incredible amount of concentration to block out the mango bogeyman, Burgeoning's endless banter, and the jester's pathetic attempt at humour (however, I must admit his falling down the stairs was quite comical, though probably not intended).

Evidently I am a regal being. I have never been superstitious and would never practise witchcraft. However, Burgeoning insisted that the possession of the mango tree was an unwanted evil hovering about the palace, and the members of my court felt it necessary to take heed her to beckoning. Thus, a local shaman was summoned to the estate to exorcise the tree, despite my objections to such devil worship.

The shaman was an odd, bony fellow whose breath reeked of overripened blackened plantains. And as it turned out, since the mango was not bearing fruit at the time, there was nothing to exorcise. But the shaman did teach me some meditation exercises that he felt would benefit the mental acuity of his new king. I was skeptical at first of this pagan art, but he named a technique "downward facing dog" after me, and as not to offend him I practise this daily as to assist in maintaining the order of my kingdom (see photo).

Burgeoning

2009-10-24T18:16:00.003-06:00

I find the servants here at the palace are a bit unskilled (I dare say even clumsy), but they were already employed by the estate when I arrived, so I just will have to make do. Usually I tend not to notice the help, as they should always be invisible to me (which is how I prefer it). But there is one in particular who stands out, and not, mind you, for her extreme talents.

She is a plump, jolly woman of sorts. From what I have been able to decipher, her name is “Burgeoning,” which is an odd name but I figure it suits her if one is referring to her ever-expanding britches. She talks rather manically and her attempt at song is as irritating as the shrill squeal of the neighborhood cats. But Burgeoning seems to have a good heart. Sometimes she feeds me, brings me water and even scratches my head when feeling rather emboldened on the days she gets paid her pithy allowance of shillings. I amaze myself that I have allowed her to touch me, but the tropical heat has a rather strange effect on one’s senses, so every so often I will succumb to a good rub on the scalp. When I prefer not to be bothered, I will don a pair of darkened spectacles to ward off her nonsensical advances. But spectacles or not, the servants know full well not to make eye contact with their king.

Nothing Further

2009-10-21T15:35:00.003-06:00

For now the season seems to be over. Every once in awhile my eye will catch a glimpse of a dessicated mango carcass in the tower, or a bird will spit out the last pieces of flesh of a fruit that never ripened. My heart pounds a bit faster, and my tail will wag instinctively. But I have managed to keep my wits about me. I fear, however, that as soon as the tree starts to blossom, it will become possessed once again by the bogeyman. And when its gnarled arms stretch out over my head and are weighed down by hundreds and hundreds of the jeweled fruit, the delirium will set in once again. Until then, I have a kingdom to reign. I have vowed to myself and to my new country that I will not allow the mango madness to be my demise, as was syphilis to Henry VIII. So now that I have shared this with you, I will try to say nothing further on the subject.

The Bogeyman

2009-10-20T13:42:00.002-06:00

The air was eerily still, and the sky was darkening as the sun had just set. The members of my court had retired to their chambers, supposedly taking a respite from their daily activities (which never appear to me to look very strenuous, but I digress.) I was napping on the cool tile when a sudden chill ran up my spine. I thought it odd that my fur was standing on end as there was not even the faintest breeze. But I was aroused from my slumber, and so I slowly felt compelled to climb the staircase without any rhyme or reason.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the upstairs landing of the south wing, but I was intrigued by a strange scent that led me down a hallway and to a spiral staircase. I had never ventured up into the tower, but the odour grew even more intense and I could not resist it. I followed the treacherous steps up into the tower that, oddly enough, is exposed to the outdoors. And there it was-- the giant mango tree blossoming over my head, filled with the malevolent fruit. I could feel my pupils dilate and my tail began to wag uncontrollably. I could practically hear the serpent whispering to me to have my fill without abandon.

The sky grew darker and my body went cold. After that, I must have lost consciousness. The next thing I remember was the watchman grabbing me by my collar and forcing me inside. I was completely drenched. It must have begun to rain, but I was too enraptured by my juicy rose-colored opiate that I did not even notice. Dazed, I stumbled down the stairs and was ashamed to find the members of my court staring at me in disbelief. I was whisked away in a towel, and it was not until several hours afterwards that I understood I had had my first encounter with the leafy bogeyman.

Mango Madness

2009-10-19T21:38:00.008-06:00

First, I must apologize for my lengthy absence. The jester and majordomo both left me for five grueling days to fend for myself, and a king without his complete court can be rather daunting. Do not ask why the jester is essential to my existence here in my adopted country, but I can only suppose that his drollness is entertaining enough to quicken the pace of the heated dog days of summer (pun intended). Or is it summer? It seems I have lost track of the seasons, and now that I think about it, I do not think I have seen a change in the seasons since I arrived 10 months ago. Though the heat sticks to me daily like a thick molasses, I have noticed the rain has intensified quite a bit over the past few weeks. Ah, the torrential rains...which actually brings me to my story of my mango madness.

It is rather embarrassing, but the giant mango tree that hangs over my palace all day long is rather taunting. Its fruit is my elixir, my spirit, my absinthe. It has a unique mystical power that seems to take away all my senses and reason. Neither the apple nor the pear ever had this effect on me, and I used to mock the avocado for days on end. But I fear this mango fruit could be the bane of my empire.

Madness

2009-10-06T16:24:00.003-06:00

Despite my loathing of the Abbess, the townspeople do not seem to bother me for the most part, as long as they stay outside the palace gate. I find myself most comfortable inside the confines of my estate. The midday tropical heat out on the street can be unbearable, and I've discovered if I lay on the tiles under the shade of the mango with my belly in the air, I can allow the breeze from the lake to cool my royal bones. This could be, however, how I got the current garrapata infestation that seems to have reached its peak in the past few days (hence, my absence from blogging).

I try not to succumb to the madness because I refuse to show any signs of weakness in front of my court. Though I have realized there is a fine line between madness and inebriation as there are certain vices that I've developed in my new kingdom, one being gluttony, particulary for that sinful tantalizing fruit of the mango. It is a drug that can overpower me, and if I were not so lightheaded from the day before, I would relay the details of an unfortunate incident. But I must wait until later...

Into Town

2009-10-01T15:39:00.010-06:00

I learned my fleet needed to be even larger than I had expected. The village where my new estate lies is not only a day’s carriage ride to the Pacific Ocean, but it is also situated on a large freshwater lake ("The Sweet Sea") that runs more than 100 miles long, and eventually connects to the Caribbean Sea. Evidently this makes my kingdom vulnerable to pirates, which has made me even more distrustful of the majordomo who at times likes to don an eye patch and a cape.

To get a better of lay of the land, one morning shortly after my arrival I beckoned some members of my court to take me into the quaint and colorful town. Though I fought against the idea, they strapped me into a harness so as to blend in with the village people and not to arouse suspicion. We were quite a motley bunch, and if it had not been for our pathetic attempt at disguise, I would have traveled about in a stately carriage and in proper dress.

Immediately I was struck with the number of churches around town which contradicted my previous notion that I was reigning a land of pagans. Here in the photo above I am standing outside the nunnery (in my shameful bondage) with the jester, the maiden, the lady-in-waiting (who did not last long under my employment) and the master of the hunt. Of course the Abbess of the convent refused to attend to us, most likely because of my harness and the horrid dress of my party. This unfortunate event reminds me that I must look into the state of capital punishment here in this land because I will have her head the next time she denies me. I did, however, address the matter with the Bishop who implored me not to be mindful of the Abbess who is a miserable cat-loving hag.

Vast Empire

2009-09-29T12:02:00.007-06:00

My bath took longer than expected. Apparently my servants obey the "lather, rinse, repeat" rule, which I must remember to abolish. In fact, there are many laws here which seem completely absurd and archaic, but I am trying not to rule with an iron paw by massacring the constitution within my first year as exiled monarch. In the meantime, the garrapata situation is getting under control, but occasionally I see one of my blue blood-sucking tenants thrashing helplessly on the floor next to me. I have no mercy on these parasites.

One of the first items of business upon arrival was to survey my new land. Since a kingdom is powerless and doomed without access to the ocean, I immediately summoned my coachman to take me to the coast so I could witness my mighty fleet. To my dismay, an armada it was not--just a few pathetic fishing vessels with a drunken sailor as their captain. As I looked out over the Pacific (see photo), I cursed the jester and the maiden for having made a mockery of my royalty. But I could see my empire was vast, and it needed a mighty king to lead it to victory.

Coup d'état

2009-09-27T09:44:00.013-06:00

The garrapata issue seems to be subsiding, though a few continue to linger and fester under my chin. It is quite repulsive and an unfortunate byproduct of this tropical climate. This morning, I am eagerly awaiting my bath to be drawn, and until then I can expound on how I arrived at my current situation.

The details of how I came into exile are sketchy. My previous estate of Miamishire where I resided for several years was comfortably cool and orderly. I entertained a great deal, and my court was very attentive. Oddly enough, the jester lived in close proximity to my sleeping chambers. In hindsight I had good cause to be suspicious of him, but his humour was endearing so I tolerated him.

Then one day, in what appeared to be the onset of a coup d'état, the jester and a visiting maiden abruptly stuffed me into a crate and threw me into a loud and dark chamber. I awoke from my confinement several hours later and found I had been whisked off to some far-off exotic land. The first thing I noticed (aside from the incessant chatter of the jester and maiden) was the heat and dust, and I was concerned that the conditions of my future prison would be insufferable. However, to my surpise, after traveling for what seemed like days down horribly primitive roads, we were greeted by the majordomo of an impressive palace. Immediately upon arrival, I knew this was my new residence. I was escorted instantly to my throne upon which I sat myself most awkwardly (see photo). Evidently my new rule in exile would have its challenges.

King or Sacrifice

2009-09-26T08:30:00.016-06:00

Perhaps my current garrapata plague is a good (albeit somewhat shameful) starting point by which to introduce myself. But I have decided it is a typical representation of the changes that I have been forced to endure since I was exiled to this remote kingdom at the base of a volcano. I have not yet been sacrificed into its fiery bowels (see photo), so I figure the natives are either a) not that primitive a species, or b) revere me as their god and thus would rather I be the honoree of such a ritual as opposed to the victim. Obviously, I choose to believe the latter, though being a God-fearing creature, I assure them that I have been deigned by God to be their majesty, but I am by no means their god. Understandably my long golden ears, furry undercoat and short stature have given rise to confusion. But they are simple creatures, and, as their king, I must be patient. However, my patience is running thin if they do not remedy my current dilemma fairly soon.

Infestation

2009-09-25T22:27:00.003-06:00

My body is currently host to a number of ticks, or garrapatas as my servants call them. This most irritating infestation of these tiny blood-sucking parasites is preventing me from focusing on the confessional today. Popped a Frontline and will call in the morning.