bulldog white goopy eyes

A Bulldog Named Fireball

akita smile derp
When I finally caught up Bamboo, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine morning. Not another rainy day surrounded by cats, he’d thought to himself, went out to Versailles, hooked his thumb, and caught the first ride to anywhere. That’s where Fireball pulled up, barely able to see over the steering wheel, a brick on the gas pedal. Bamboo hopped in and hung his head out the window. Just drive, he said. When the car ran out of gas, they ditched it and walked. Stolen anyway, Fireball said. Bamboo didn’t hear, already nose to the ground in a far off place, looking for women or loose dirt to scratch. Quite a pair, they made the news, so it wasn’t hard to track them down. We left Fireball where he was, Bam adventured out for the moment. He’s got all weekend to rest up, and the thing about Versailles is: there’s always another Fireball about to pull up to the curb.

chocolate labs two smile
When I finally caught up with Chevy and Dexter, they were drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine afternoon. Realizing Tricia wasn’t coming, they had lit out to see what the rest of the world had on offer – two train rides, a near mugging, and a car crash later, they found a dark place to drink and sulk, squinting at the daylight when I kicked open the door. Let’s go, fellas, I said. Time to get home. Chevy led us around his favorite parts of the neighborhood, taking in the smells and waving to the gals while Dexter guarded the rear, afraid them two Hupa fellas might want their money back from a poker game that went awry. I tell ya, these boys always finding trouble but found their napping spots back home like just another Thursday, glad for when Tricia comes back.

mutt dog side eye bandana
When I finally caught up with Rosco, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine afternoon. A friend from the old days, Rosco told me, old Fireball had shown up out of the blue to reminisce and with a new adventure – Sweet Rosco, so trusting and a little naive, ended up spending his last cash on a beer for Fireball and eating peanuts off the bar. I was glad to find him and even happier to hear his tail thumping against the barstool, ready to get home to familiar sights and smells, and my signature butt scratches.

two dogs album cover
When I finally caught up with Lulu and Lolly, they were drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, drinking the heart right out of a fine afternoon. Growing restless, Lolly had wanted to see the world again, traveling cross country like she had in the old days. Not about to let her go alone, Lulu packed a bindle and threw it over her shoulder, acting as traveling conscience as they left the Kingdom behind. When the rains and the chill arrived, the people hired me to find them and bring them back, a story for another day. And so it was to streamers and a brass band that they returned, bundled against the chill and chagrined but smiling and waving, saying There’s no place like home.