Hey, Otis. How was your day?
“Ah, I’m fucking with you. I can’t complain, y’know? No pants, no bills, no concept of mortality: being a dog’s just aces, honestly.”
I read something interesting about you, Otis: were you originally John Kahn’s dog?
“True, true. Yeah, me and Kahn liked each other just fine, but we were different people. I liked not doing heroin, but he didn’t not like doing heroin.”
Wait…okay, I figured that out.
“Good guy, Kahnny, but an indoors kinda cat. Not just indoors – he would find the smallest room within the house and hang out in there with the door closed.”
You’re a nature dog.
“Right on, man: yeah. I like hikes and running alongside bikes and sticking my nose in strange asses. Eating stuff, throwing it up, then eating it again.”
Well, some dogs like to lay around.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong: I can’t get enough of laying on stuff. The bed is great, or the couch. Rugs are okay, but the floor will do just fine. Anywhere I can be most in the way of everyone.”
Dogs love doing that.
“Keeping an eye on the guy. Number one rule: always know where your Bobby is.”
Bobby’s a good dog guy?
“Ah. man: I lucked out with Big Bob. We hike and run and go to parks and he brings me everywhere in the car: me and Bob hang heavy and hard.”
I’m getting that.
“That man is MY BRO. My Peter Bro-Toole.”
Don’t do that.
“Every night, I sing him Brohemian Rhapsody.”
“Call me Norman, cuz he’s my Broklahoma.”