Pass the Raisin Brain

I'm afraid I have to retract any disparaging comments I made yesterday about dogs in general and Leo in particular. After all, a dog who is capable of feigning the symptoms of yet another ruptured bloody tumor -- even down to the pale, anemic looking gums -- must have a brain far larger than your average raisin. Not only is Leo brilliant, but he's as shifty as his criminal mastermind brother, Manny.

Just like folks who've lost their eyesight and end up compensating with a heightened sense of hearing, Leo seems to have made up for his inability to speak English with a heightened degree of cunning. Behind those innocent, soulful brown eyes lies a mind capable of all sorts of clever manipulation. He would have gotten away with it had he not blown his cover when we arrived at the veterinary hospital for what I thought was a major emergency.

I've been made a fool of by many people -- most often myself -- but I never in a million years would have guessed that dear old Leo would bite the hand that feeds him. Love is a powerful emotion, though, and obsessive attraction can lead even the most loyal pup down the path of betrayal. Leo is no exception. What dog in his right mind can resist a staff full of animal lovers who treat you like a prince when you visit, who spoon feed you with baby food and take you for long romps in the snow drifts the moment you whimper. Particularly a dog whose testicles were lopped off long before he could ever experience the joys of sex; a visit to the veterinary hospital is as good as it gets for Leo.

Yep, he had me going until the last minute. He thought of everything -- plopping on the ground with a look of sheer exhaustion when I tried to take him for a walk, turning his nose up at food, tucking his tail between his legs, and, yes, the old pale gums trick. He knew damn well I was going to rush him to the place he thinks of as heaven on earth. He even kept the act going for the entire car ride. Manny was in on it too, giving me that "don't even think of leaving me here alone or I'll eat every pair of underpants in the house" look as I dragged the seemingly dying Leo to the car.

But the gig was up when Leo's dopey impetuous side -- the side with which I'm most familiar -- took over, and he jumped up from his fake, sickly slumber as we pulled up at heaven on earth's gates. Wheels up, tail up -- he nearly killed a little poodle and its owners as he bounded out of the car. The good news is he's okay. (Leo, I mean. The poodle has been scarred for life.)

I'm onto him though. And the next time he pulls that crap, if you think I'm going to drop everything and head out in ridiculous Friday night rush hour traffic just to make a fool of myself in front of all the staffers at the animal hospital, well, you're absolutely right.