You’re a dog person – you’ve always had dogs – you had a dog before you could walk – Motley was a dog – Motley didn’t like you.
Never quite sure why, but your girlfriend had this dog who judged people – he could stare holes through you – he protected your girlfriend – that was Motley.
You tried – you tried everything – bones, biscuits, treats – you cooked him a hamburger, an honest-to-god USDA Prime ground beef hamburger – bun, lettuce, cheese – everything most dogs have been known to love, devour, show oceans of gratitude and be your pal forever.
Not Motley – he stared – he growled – get two feet away from your girlfriend he would snap at you and bark loudly. Hamburger went flying.
He hated you – you were convinced.
Motley came from the Pound. Became glued to your girlfriend, convinced she was the one who saved his life. He wasn’t one particular breed, he was a bargain basement of breeds. Motley fit him. In the dog world he was a mess – to one human, the one you wrote letters to, called every night on the phone, wanted for just once be on a date without him tagging along; growling and snapping, he was perfect. It was total love – tail wagged, bouncing from one foot to the other – enough licking to clean a city block. Spun on a dime when you got close – nobody got between you and her – not on his watch – except once.
After a month of dodging snapping teeth and sheepish excuses – you set an ultimatum; you got tickets to see Supertramp at Santa Monica Civic, but with the proviso that if she wanted to come she had to leave Motley home, just this once – just this night.
She reluctantly agreed. She was a Supertramp fan – Motley had to stay home – he greeted the news with a show of teeth and ears pointed straight back, giving the impression he was a dome of destruction. But you got your wish and life, for at least one night, was going to be a memorable one.
When you came by her house the night of the concert her parents met you and gazed at you with silent sympathy for Motley’s behavior – Motley was nowhere around. He was safely in the backyard, hovering over his food dish. You felt safe and relieved as you stepped inside, exchanging niceties. Her parents were nice – their daughter was nice. You just didn’t get to talk to her all that much when Motley was around staring holes through you.
After the concert you had the brilliant idea of driving over to Ocean Park – watching the moon, gazing up the coast and playing tonsil hockey.
After a few minutes of talking about the concert the inside of your car got very quiet – switching to deep eye gazing and confessions. Inching closer, you took advantage of a great opportunity and went straight for her lips.
A low growl came from inside the car. You both stopped. Another growl. You pulled away and turned your in the direction of the backseat.
There was Motley. He got into the car through an open window while you were visiting her parents. The last thing on your mind was to check, assuming he had no clue. His reptilian gaze zeroed in on you and instant death was a definite possibility.
He lunged – you freaked – she screamed. He was going for your face but settled on your arm. Your girlfriend was yelling at Motley to stop.
You tumbled out of the car, onto the walkway and away from Motley.
You finally managed to get your girlfriend and Motley, who was now stuffed in the trunk like a retribution, back home and safely out of danger to yourself.
Your parents, who were wrapped around the Cathode Ray glow of Johnny Carson, looked at your bloodstained shirt and asked if you had been in a fight.
You had a one word answer; Motley. You trudged to the bathroom in search of ointments, antiseptics and bandages, finally making it to your bedroom where you folded over like a napkin and fell dead asleep.
Next morning your clockradio buzzed on – you were still laying on top of the bed only now your arm was killing you. Your mother came in and said you weren’t going to school, but you were going to the hospital for a Tetanus shot.
Lucky you – Motley was probably blissfully wrapped around your girlfriend, snoring.
The things you did for love.
And to go along with your morning wakeup – here is KHJ from October 8, 1976 with Shana.
