Photos by @vincentjmusi | You are safely looking down the gullet of Toby, a wired, 5-year-old wire fox terrier with one lung and a bum leg. I didn’t ask how these particulars came to be, as there was way too much going on.
For a period of time that can be measured in years, I played a pinball machine called FunHouse at a local pub within radio distance of the picture desk of a former employer. The bonus multiball round was achieved by skillfully flippering a pinball into the open mouth of a giant, talking, dismembered doll head named Rudy, launching what is known as THE FRENZY in which all madness is broken loose.
In my studio, we have in our inventory of tricks and gimmicks a pathetic, faded orange rubber squeaky pig that, when squeaked properly, will elicit a curious response in most animals, perhaps a head tilt or a pause. In Toby’s case, it unleashed THE FRENZY.
Anyone who dared to enter the air space between Toby and the orange pig was in danger. My wife and loyal assistant Callie had lost control of the beast and both now looked disapprovingly at me. We had few contingency plans, and leadership was called for. Toby’s owner just paced apologetically back and forth, explaining that we had made a grave mistake.
Let the record show that I did not actually perform the squeak, but I did order the squeak and now take full responsibility. The squeak stops here.
Callie and what’s left of the pig are still not talking to me.
From another #YearOfTheDogs a personal quest of sorts by @vincentjmusi