Bulldog Chronicles

Some days I wonder about the celestial events that bring us all together. The things beyond the monetary value of existence. Lone rover landing on Mars. Acquisition of objects that without memory mean nothing. The shells of old love collected on the beach, which now serve as ashtrays. Or the juggling balls gifted for Christmas; which you never learned to juggle, but cherish because grandma remembered you always wanted to be in the circus.

The art of the gift was on my mind the day I found the notebook at the thrift shop in Alphabet City. Down the block from work and across from the abandoned bodega on 1st and Avenue A. The plexiglass mirrored my long, untrimmed hair boss referred to as, "a fuckin' rats nest.” A type of existential rebellion reinforced by his need to keep his employees to save from paying PPP loans. I needed a gift for Shelley, my partner, it was her birthday and I’d just gotten paid. The snow outside made me look like Bigfoot but the man behind the glass had seen worse. A dress? A necklace? This old Christmas-Story-Lamp? That would be a gift for me, she hadn’t even seen a Christmas Story. I settled on a black moleskin, used, slightly worn at the spine, and a book called The Act of Manifestation.

We didn’t find out about the writing at the back of the moleskin until about a month later. Shelley was flipping through the pages, body pressed against mine for warmth in our two story walkup, “Did you know this was used?”

“Yea, is there something written in it?”

I always enjoyed ephemera. I thought I looked through the notebook. But that day was cold and I had to get back to work, I was on thin ice to begin with, “I guess I didn’t look inside it, sorry, babe.”

“It’s filled with weird entries, a total wackjob’s journal. It’s like it’s written from a dog's perspective.”

“Read me one.”

Day 110

January 14

Another day of bullshit, stopping into that awful moldy basement. With all this smelly work Boss got me doin’ I’d think I’d at least earned a bone! Nothin’. What a waste today was too, I couldn’t even scare the cat that lives at the human food store near my favorite marking spot. That cat rolls around all day oglin' the humans takin' the food down into the hole. Fuckin’ pussy got it made. Boss made me go downstairs. He was lookin’ round like a crazy man, lookin’ in all those boxes.

“Is that it?” Shelly shook her head and asked, “So what do you think?”

“I don’t know, is there more?”

“Yea, but it's more of the same.”

Day 112

January 16

Pearl didn’t notice my new coat, it’s almost as if she isn’t interested anymore, I bet that tramp Maggie told her about our stint in the park last time Boss and I were on the way to the drop. Boss does this thing where he tucks these stacks of paper pictures behind bricks in the basement. When I was a pup someone threw one at me, they make me nervous.

Day 116

January 20

Maggie did tell Pearl, now she won’t bark back. Fuckin’ Bitches. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. God I miss the smell of Pearl in heat… Boss took us back to the empty basement again, hid some strange box in a bigger stranger box.

“What if there really was money?”

“And the dog grew thumbs!”

“Yea, well I guess or it's like a code.”

“Come on babe, it’s some bored middle schooler.”

“You’re probably right. But there’s this bodega I walk past everyday. A cat lives there…”

“Like in every other bodega in New York City? Come on.”

“Read the rest at least.”

“Really?”

“Yea.”

Day 123

January 27

Spot fucked everything up. He couldn’t just keep his nose in his OWN business, could he? Can’t trust a shepherd. After this betrayal? Hell no! Once he got a whiff, he couldn’t stop fuckin’ her. Now fuck-face’s smell is all over the basement, it’s like he actually likes the smell of shepherd spunk and mold. And to bark it all off, that cat’s been pissin’ all over the basement.

Day 140

February 13

Boss lost it the other day. He was yellin’ and screamin’ about something in the hole. Small pieces of paper were flyin’ round. He smacked me when I tried to play with them. He shoved them all inside the wall. That cat was staring at me the whole time, teasin' me. So I gave a little bark to let her know who's the top dog.

“Come on, baby... you think all that's made up?”

“Don’t make me laugh, I bet pigs can fly too.”

“No, listen. I know those places.”

“What places?”

“You know...the ones the dog…”

“The ones he pisses on to mark his territory over the pussy? Yeah, right! Like this is some coded message from a gangsta about his stash house?”

“Exactly! I mean, what if they can’t use phones to communicate, they’re all tapped? So, to let the others know that the drops’ve been compromised they write these little vignettes in books and leave them for the contact to pick up.``

“I think maybe you’ve lost it Jimmy.”

“What about the ginkgo tree?”

“What about it?”

“There’s one right across from that bodega down by work, across from the thrift store.”

“Yea, like on every other corner? I see ginkgo's all the time, especially near Chinatown, they’re outside every corner store. They use the bulbs for medicinals.”

“Let me see the book.”

“Here you go, I read it all to you.”

“I know, I just want to take a closer look.”

Day 147

February 20

1st that Tabby smacked me right across my nose!

As payback, I took her favorite spots, the fire hydrant and

new grass patch outside the hole. I even took over the

dumpster that she used to hide mice she was trying to save.

Anyway you look at it, I got out on top.

“I mean, honey, you can’t really believe someone would leave this as some type of message. Every hippy-Keraouc-wannabe is comin’ in to buy these Moleskins. It just doesn’t seem like a very practical way to pass messages.”

“I think that’s why it's perfect. I don’t think they’d take it out of the shop. Just read it right there, then the hipster picks it up and thinks it's just some silly preteens foolin’ around, thinkin’ nothin’ of it. I mean look here. What’s that spell?”

“What?”

“Right along the left under Day 147.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Really? Look. Starts there with 1st.”

“Ok yea... So, what? That’s not like the fuckin’ fibonacci code or anything.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna check it out on the way to work anyway.”

“Really, Jimmy? What? You’re going to break into an abandoned bodega?”

“No, I’m gonna have a closer look.”

“Ok… and then what?”

“Then, maybe I’ll look inside.”

Day 155

February 28

Humans bleed a lot. Like, they have a lot of blood just kinda around in their bodies. Boss made us run so fast after the big sound happened. He was limping the whole way back. He looked like he might vomit when we got to the smelly tree with the bulbs that pop and smell like shit.

The basement wasn’t what I expected. The smell was harsh, almost like earth but putrid even through a mask. I debated whether to come down here at all, I knew Shelley was probably right, but I had to see for myself. But there was nothing. I checked under some loose bricks, behind empty boxes. None of it seemed out of place.

When I got back up from the hatch to the street, the smell of gingko wafting over the concrete, I knew before they even said anything.

“Stop, police!” two plain clothes. “What are you doing down there?”

“Sir…”

“Don’t move, hands up!” One spoke, then The Other, “What’re you doing down there, dropping off or picking up?”

“No, I mean, just checking it out. Sorry….”

“Checking it out?” One spoke to the other, “Do you believe this guy? Empty your pockets, let me see some ID.”

“Yea, I walk by this everyday and it’s never open. One of the casualties, you know what I mean?”

“Sir, you are trespassing.”

“Well, I mean, yea.”

“But what?”

“I just, well...”

“Spit it out fuck face, I might just arrest you right here for B&E.”

“No, sir, please... The hatch was open, listen. I got this notebook for my girlfriend, and there was this story written in it. It was, you know… used... from the thrift shop across the street. There’s this story written in it about a dog that witnesses his owner hiding money, like a mob drop or something…”

“What? Shithead, what the fuck are you talking about?” One pointed to The Other and The Other pushed Jimmy toward the side of the bodega. The Other said, “What are you talking about? The mob?”

“I know it’s stupid. I guess, I don’t know. My imagination got the best of me. I thought the story was some type of code and I was going to find like twenty thousand dollars somewhere behind a bunch of bricks.”

“Now we’re talking,” One said, The Other, “So… what’d you find?”

“Nothing, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m a total fuck up, gullible as shit! Officers, you have to believe me, I’m really not a bad guy.”

“What do you think, Paul?”

“Well Bob… I think he’s a nut job. Maybe a dope fiend trying to shoot up, but he ain’t got anything and we got bigger fish to fry,” Paul said curtly.

“Ok, well sir, this is a strong warning. Don’t believe everything you read, and stay off the dope. You’re free to go, but we’re always around. If we see you fuckin’ up, snoopin’ where you’re not supposed to be, its the fuckin’ bracelets and lockup. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”

Day 170

March 30

I’ve been waiting for Boss to come and pick me up, he has never been gone this long. I have been waiting to tell him about the lady I saw last night sneaking out of the basement, she was dragging a couple of bags. I would have chased her but Boss has me locked in my kennel. I guess I’m not a guard dog anymore.

When I got home, I was ashamed. I almost couldn’t bear to go back, I walked around after the cops for almost an hour before mustering the confidence to go back to the apartment. Shelley was right again, like always.

“Hey babe, I’m home,” I knew what she was going to ask, “Before you ask, you were right, I should have listened to you in the first place.”

“Hey, give me a kiss. What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to be coy about it. It won’t hurt my feelings. I was gullible. Making things up.”

“Coy? Oh, come on, I love that big brain of yours.”

“I love you too, but really. Listen, I got stopped by the cops.”

“What?... Jimmy…”

“I know, I made a mistake. I just couldn’t help myself. I mean ,that was potentially a lot of money.”

“It’s ok, Jimmy, you know. You were actually right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Shelly took out the black moleskin notebook with the worn spine that seemed on its last legs after the hours and days of our thumbing the antique, “I think you should read the Day 170 entry.”

“What do you mean they only went up to Day 169.”

“Just look,” she handed me the Moleskin. I read the entry.

“What?... Is this? No...” Shelly pointed to the kitchen. A kennel by the sink.

“Yea, Jim, you were right all along.”