Holy Cow

32 DOG BITES PIG

We walked over to the big board where they show the times and gates of all arrivals and departures, and as we looked, we could see the flights to India, to Turkey, and to Israel, all on time. It was too good to be true. We each took one of the passports we had stolen from the farmer’s underwear drawer, and as we were fixing to say our goodbyes and head to our respective gates, we became aware that one of those bomb-sniffing dogs had become very interested in us, especially in Shalom. Shalom wheeled around and said, “Get your nose out of my butt, dude.”

“That’s all right, mama, don’t fight the law,” said this German shepherd with a thick Rhineland accent, even though he seemed partial to American urban patois, which made him end up sounding like Dirk Nowitzki.

“What’s your name, sweet thang?” I guess the diaper and disguise were fooling this particular doggy into thinking not only that Shalom was a dog, but that he was female as well.

“What? Did you just call me ‘mama’?”

I realized what was going down before Shalom did, and I started urgently shaking my head from side to side, imploring him not to blow our cover while we were so close to victory.

“I like me a feisty bitch,” the dog growled comically. “Well, all right now. Look at you standing tall on your hindies-you go, girl. Can I holla at ya? Can I holla? Can I holla?”

I felt for Shalom, doubling down on the indignity of having physically injured his manhood earlier in the day, and now this, a psychic injury to that same ailing masculinity.

“Did you just call me a bitch, Rin Tin Tin?”

The dog kept sniffing the air around Shalom like it was the sweetest of perfumes. “Funny story. I am related to the Rinster on my mother’s side. Truth. You ever dated a shepherd? We Germans, well, let’s just say we do our business and we take care of business, our clocks are not the only things that run on time, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“You want some of this?” The dog now angled his backside close to Shalom’s nose. This was not going to end well. “Can you tell they feed me steak? Go on, have a whiff. I would share with you, meine kleine bitch.”

This was making me uncomfortable in so many ways.

“Did you just call me a bitch, Rin Tin Tin?”

Shalom smacked the dog on the backside. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you tell I’m a pig?”

The dog froze, stopped breathing, his eyes registering shock, disappointment, and embarrassment all at once.

“Of course I know you’re a pig. My nose is a highly trained instrument. Not only did I smell out that you were a pig but that you also may be smuggling drugs.” He spoke into a radio attached to his collar. “Code green, repeat we have a code green, requesting backup.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” I said. “That’s not fair.”

“And I’m a guy!” said Shalom.

“Now that I didn’t get. I have to admit. Are you sure?” asked the dog.

“Am I sure?” Shalom squealed.

The dog nodded. “Okay, then, I am gonna have to ask you all to come with me. Is that a turkey?”

“Hey, good for you,” Shalom said, “you got one right.”

The dog barked to get the attention of his human handlers. This was all coming apart fast.

“Wait!” I said. I had to do something before the humans arrived. “It’s clear you are not good at your job.”

“Okay, yes, my olfactory powers were not the strongest in my graduating class. What are you, a deer?” he asked, sniffing the air around me.

“Close,” I said. “Yes… or cow. Deer or cow-either, really. Some days I’m not sure myself.”

“That was my second guess. I knew it. Very similar.”

“Listen,” I pleaded, “we are all chasing a dream here, mine is to go to India, the turkey to Turkey, and the pig, or dog, or whatever you feel like calling him, to Israel.”

“So?” asked the dog, seemingly unimpressed.

“Well, let’s be honest,” I hurried on, “this could not have been your first choice of occupation, your nose is not cut out for this work, if we’re being honest.”

“You are very perceptive, like many deer. Yes, my father forced me to go into the sniffing business like him and his father before him. I hate it.” The shepherd made sad dog eyes, and his tail collapsed between his legs.

“Well, you must have had a dream yourself, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to be a seeing-eye dog,” he confided. “I wanted to help people, but my father thought there was more job security in customs, so I didn’t chase that dream, and now I kinda feel like I’m just chasing my tail.”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” I said. “We are all chasing our dreams and so can you.”

“It’s too late.” He sighed. “I’m five years old, I’m middle-aged.”

“Hey, man, five is the new three. You can do it. Look, can you read the departure board up there?”

“I can. Anybody can-” blurted Tom and I kicked him, “-not. I cannot. Who could? No one could.”

Shalom said, “No, no, it’s so blurry from here, I would need a telescope or something.”

The dog glanced up. “I can read it.”

“You can?” I said. “That’s amazing!”

His tail stirred, went to half mast. “Sure, what do you need to know? India, you say-that’s 3:55, gate 31; Turkey 2:30, gate 11; and Israel not till 7:00, gate 41.”

We gave him the slow hoof clap of somber appreciation. “Man oh man, you don’t have eyes, dude, you have binoculars, lasers.” Shalom whistled.

I made a show of covering myself up. “Oh no, you don’t have X-ray vision too, do you? You can’t see through my clothes, can you?”

His tail started wagging so hard his whole rear end was wagging too. “Follow me,” he yipped as he jumped onto one of those big golf carts that beep around airports. “They’re with me,” he barked at the driver, and we all piled on for a VIP trip through passport control and straight to our gates. Forget about Global Entry, we had Global Exit!

The shepherd leaned over to me as he turned on the siren, and whispered, “And maybe you’re right, deer. It’s never too late.”