I spent most of the day today soaking in a dark tank of water. It wasn’t bad. The lid opened up a few times and I darted out of the way of those tongs. I have a good place I go, deep in the corner where the tongs can’t reach. There are a few other hot dogs who have figured this out, too. So we all squish back there, maybe about four or five of us. And we wait.
They took Bernie today.
I can’t think about it that much. Instead, I think of songs. I sing them in my head. “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus. I know it’s out of context but it’s what gets me through.
The concept of time is just not something that I understand. I might have been down here for half a day, or 400 years, and how would I know? And you know what, I don’t want to know. Neither does the person who’s going to buy me, eventually, if things go the way I think they’re gonna go. It’s best to not talk about these things. I’ve learned to save my energy for things I can change.
Like learning the backstroke. It’s actually pretty fun. Sure I bump into a lot of other dogs, and excuse me, but we’re down here, might as well have some fun. I don’t see the point being trapped in a dark bin like this and ALSO being grumpy about it. Life is dark, short, and brutish, and if you don’t believe me then stop for a second and think about where I came from. Pigs. Where are those pigs now? They’re in this skin. What’s left of them. So live it up while you can, that’s what I say.
Today I narrowly escaped the tongs. I was asleep when the lid went up and when I woke up there were two prongs hovering over my head. I just went under the surface and waited, and eventually they took Leila. She screamed a lot. And you know what, good riddance. That dog was an energy vampire if ever I knew one. Just really negative all the time, always complaining about something. She could never just appreciate anything, you know, and who needs that? So. I wish her well. Always have. And now it’s back to the same ol’ same ol’.
Well, it’s not entirely same ‘ol. I’ve started reading Proust. Not because I really want to, but because I want to feel like I’m better than everybody else. Or at least better than what I am. Which is just a weiner in a skin, dodging the tongs.
I don’t even know how to pronounce Proust. Is it “proo”? Like “poo”? Or is it Proust, like “joust?” Or like Proost? Like “roost?” I can ask these questions because I’m a hot dog. If I were the guy with the tongs, I would not be allowed to ask that question, and that is why sometimes it’s better to be down here.
Uh oh there’s the lid. brb—