TheBanyanTree: Friday. 4:30 pm.

[Monique Colver]

The dog, the little conehead, walks from room to room, his stiff plastic
cone hitting the walls. Crash. He turns to go down the hallway. Crash. He
makes his way to my desk and sits, and turns his conehead up to me. His big
brown eyes are full of questions. Or, I should say, full of a question.
"Why? WHY?"

I have no answer, at least none that he can understand, so I give him a
piece of toast. He likes the toast, but it doesn't really answer his
question.

Two days ago he was a normal dog. Or as normal as can be expected. He had
all his parts where where he should, and life was good. Life was as good for
a dog as it can get, with 24 hour concierge service and full time parents
who have nothing better to do but hang around with him all day. It was an
idyllic and sheltered life, with the weekly trip to the dog park, the
occasional outing to Starbucks, the less seldom trip to the shore. If his
name were Riley, it could be said he lived the life of Riley. But his name
is not Riley, it is Ash, and so he lived the life of Ash, complete with
people to take care of him and a big sister who let him jump all over her.

Then came the operation. They didn't warn him, the people he once trusted.
They led him to believe he was off for another adventure, and Ash loves
adventures. Ash loves adventures so much he must have a seat belt when he's
in the car, so he doesn't hurt himself, or his people, or anyone else
driving on the road. They took him a place he'd been before, a place with
people. He loves people! People to jump on! People to climb on! People to
rub his belly! And other dogs! The excitement in the air!

Next thing he knew he was awake, and something hurt, and when he examined
himself he found . . . he found he'd been mutilated! Oh no! One of his
people showed up and took him home, and since then he's been wondering . . .
why? WHY?

There is no answer for the dog with the cone on his head. At least none that
a dog can understand. We hope that in time he'll forget what was done to
him, and go on to lead a normal life, whatever that is. But for now . . . he
must have help navigating the stairs, and throughout the house rings the
sound of . . . CRASH!