On Living By Pimp Lane
Dedication: To my Protector, my very own sweet and majestic Doberman. His level-headed confidence and strength are unmatchable! He truly is my guardian angel.
The night my second mom first brought me home, she explained that I was a remarkably unique being; she said it was my blood right to become The Protector of Pimp Lane. I didn't fully understand, but I felt content around her apple-fruity smell and warmth. I was delighted she thought of me so highly. I remember falling asleep in her brown arms in her surprisingly gigantic bed, determined to excel in my protection responsibilities and education.
The next morning, I woke up on top of my new mom's head. I don't remember how I got there, but it felt just right! Her hair made a comfortable nest, and being on top of her head allowed me to survey my new surroundings. Unlike my previous home, this one only had one other dog. In my old home, I felt consistently cramped with thirteen others. At first, I wondered why this house only had one other dog, but I soon realized that this meant less competition for me!
I will easily become my new mom's favorite. I'm delightful.
When my new mom finally woke up, the first thing she did was howl with laughter as she grabbed me from her head and placed me on her stomach. Plopped on her stomach, I realized with surprise that her stomach felt more comfortable than her head. She smelt a little different than she had the night before, but as I sniffed her, I decided I liked all of her smells. I crawled closer to her face, closed my eyes, and pointed my snout politely toward her so she understood I was asking for a kiss.
Mom made a strange squealing noise and laughed again. "Oh my goooood, you are soooooooooo cute!" Mom picked me up underneath my front legs and kissed me all over my snout, eyes, ears, and face.
I sighed with bliss. Ah yes, this is the life.
Mom put me to work right away. She didn't even serve me breakfast first! Come to think of it, she only fed me directly from her hands, using them as a lure to move me around as we trained. But I didn't mind because her passion and intense focus on my education flattered me.
In the initial weeks, Mom deemed me too young to embark on my protection training journey. According to her, every skilled and accomplished Protector must first master the fundamentals: footwork, obedience, and leash manners. Yet, to my dismay, these tasks proved to be complete drags of boredom!
I get it, Mom! You want me to make you feel like the center of the universe all the damn time. I always have to listen and do what you say the first time! And each day, you keep adding more rules!
Something strange has been happening to Mom's bed. The bed keeps shrinking! I don't understand why this is happening. The weirdest thing is that my mom still fits perfectly well, and even my new sister seems to find the space satisfactory. Why am I the only one who no longer fits in the bed?
It's been almost a year since I came to live with Mom and Sister. It turns out that Sister is Mom's service dog. I had no idea that people like Mom rely on medicine like a service dog to live their lives. From what I've studied, Sister's tasks are completely different from my protection duties.
I thought I was unique because Mom always calls me The Protector. But to see my sister's ego, you'd think she's the Messiah! Sister tells me that she is allowed—nay, required—to accompany and assist Mom personally anywhere Mom goes. She also tells me that Protectors do not have the same "public access rights." Whatever that means!
Sister is even more bossy than Mom! Whenever I am about to try something new and interesting, Sister pokes me on my side with her nose and chides me. She loves enforcing the rules.
Sister is so lame!
The good news is that Sister loves taking naps, so I've learned to wait for her next nap before exploring.
There's a rather strange man stalking our yard. He doesn't know he's not allowed because I'm the only one allowed to stalk Mom's yard. This man can barely stand straight, so I see nothing to worry about. I'm curious what he'll do if I pounce.
The reality is that our cozy house is right next to the not-so-cozy Pimp Lane. Mom won't tell me much about what happens in Pimp Lane, but she always reminds me to keep watch whenever the Bad Men doing shady business from there meander over to our home. It's not the first time a Bad Man from Pimp Lane gets curious around my yard.
Expertly hiding behind my favorite tree, I contemplated whether I deemed this man worthy of my exceptionally athletic pounces. As I peacefully continued to stalk his movements from my hideaway spot, the man suddenly placed both of his hands on my fence.
Without a blink, I pounced through bushes past my tree spot and landed a couple of feet away from his grip on my fence. Landing gracefully, I regained my balance and stared him down.
"FUCK!" The weird man screeched, frozen in shock, staring into my unblinking eyes. "FUCK! It's a Doberman!"
And just like that, the man ran in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could.
Interesting. What does being a Doberman mean? When I smile wide and show all my teeth politely, men freak out. If I don't smile, men also freak out. When I pounce, men freak out. When I don't move, men freak out. When all I do is stare at men without even blinking, men freak out. It's almost as if the mere sight of me strikes respect and fear upon mortal men. I don't know why I didn't realize this before, but clearly, I am a god!
Mom doesn't like hiking, but she pretends to because she knows how much Sister and I love sniffing trails! Mom isn't too bad after all. The more time passes, the more I learn about her unique sense of humor.
Something strange is that the older I've grown, the more I notice that more than a fair share of men look at Mom in a way I do not approve of. Frankly, it's a good thing she has me!
One day, when Mom took me trailing again, we came across a section of the path that looked completely alone and peaceful. Innocently, we kept plodding ahead; as usual, Mom attached herself to me for safety. The truth is, at the rate Mom trips and loses her sense of direction, it's a good thing I keep her on a short leash!
Unexpectedly, I tilted my left ear, catching the distinct sound of footsteps approaching us. The loud snap of twigs nearby confirms that a human is nearby. Scanning the surroundings, my eyes narrowed on a tall man with a miskept beard who seemed to be trying to follow us.
But I'm not worried because Mom and I have practiced this problem a million times! I know that Protectors must alert and wait for Mom's direction without losing my eye on the moving target.
I humph, letting Mom know I've got my eyes keeping watch on someone.
"Yes, that's my good boy," Mom croons in response. "What do you see?"
Before I could respond, the bearded man stepped onto our trail and started walking toward us, looking at us strangely.
"Middle!" Mom instructed, finally understanding what I was alerting her about.
I rush to place myself in the middle position, just like we've trained.
"Watch him, boy!" Mom instructed next.
Stalking strange men that creep Mom out is my favorite thing I'm allowed to do. I stare at the man without blinking because, as I've learned from stalking proficiently the Pimp Lane Men, that always unnerves them. Keeping my eye on the target, I wonder if Mom will request me to scream. Mom has a lot of rules about where and how long I'm allowed to scream as a Protector.
"BRIGADE!" Mom commands, at last, to my absolute delight. Brigade is Mom's special word when she wants me to scream on command and growl.
Determined to make Mom proud, I scream louder than I've ever attempted, making the forest leaves rumble. My job is to hold a steady line of roaring that encourages the target to run for their mortal life.
But to my disappointment, the man was startled immediately by my first scream, which probably meant Mom wouldn't let me keep yelling for much longer. As I suspected, once the man turned around and had backed up sufficiently to her liking, Mom clicked her tongue to indicate I could stop screaming.
"Bitch!" the man yelled, glaring at Mom one last time before he sped away faster than lightning.
"You're the one running away— WHO'S THE BITCH NOW?!" Mom hollered saucily right back.
Today is special because Mom says I am finally old enough to begin my Protector training. Now that I am over two years old, Mom seems to think my brain is more capable of discerning between genuine danger or situations that require caution. She says that we must visit a new place where they teach how to become Protectors.
After a long and boring car ride, we finally stopped. Bouncing out, Mom took us inside a huge field with new toys I had never seen before. Some people dressed in funny, puffy outfits that made it hard for them to walk straight! Stranger still, some dogs were chewing on the arms and legs of the people in weird, puffy outfits!
"Those people are called decoys!" Mom explained with a swell of laughter at my shocked face. "It's a game!"
Is Mom high? Since when are dogs allowed to chew on people's arms and legs?
"Protectors must learn how to bite and when to stop biting. You need to understand the best ways to hold down a dangerous person, but you shouldn't try to hurt them too badly. You must choose self-control because that is the only way to become a dependable Protector," Mom beamed proudly at me. "Are you ready?"
After a lifetime of being told I'm mostly not allowed to chew on anything, I drooled at the prospect of being encouraged to chew on an arm or leg.
Ah yes, at long last. I am The Protector of Pimp Lane.
The talented Brabus.
Athena (far right) with more family members.
