After exhausting negotiations, BooMan the Dog finally agreed to meet us at an undisclosed location. We were a bit alarmed when, on arriving at the agreed-upon destination, we did not find the reclusive Newfoundland himself, but a contingent of his security staff, who insisted on blindfolding us for the last leg of the trip.
We were led up a short flight of stairs to an elevator, and after what seemed to be an unusually long ride, we were led out and heard a rather ominous click of an automatic lock. Our blindfold was removed, and we beheld the BooDog, casually dressed in his signature black fur and a sporty Prada collar.
Wagging his tail cordially, Boo, as we were invited to call him, apologized for any inconvenience. “Security,” he panted. “I don’t like treating guests this way, but unfortunately, it is necessary.”
We got right to the point: “MilkBoneGate?”
Boo sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish Dahr Jamail had just stayed in Iraq. On the other hand, it was all going to come out in the open eventually.”
And now that it has all become public, what now? we wanted to know. Is it true that Boo is still receiving only one MilkBone a day?
The famous canine settled back on the ice blue velvet couch, tucking one paw thoughtfully under the other before answering. “Let’s just say that the issue has been resolved. Obviously, I cannot discuss specific strategies during an ongoing investigation.” He smiled mysteriously, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed a fifty pound bag of gourmet MilkBones leaning casually against a Louis XV occasional table.
We could not help noticing that on that same table, in a mother of pearl frame that I recognized from Tiffany’s Special Collection window, a photograph of a very attractive chihuahua.
“Is that – ?” we began hesitantly.
BooDog gave an enigmatic snort and tossed his head. “If you don’t mind, I believe the agreement was that you would not ask, and I would not answer, questions about my personal life. I will say that Lupe is a very fine chihuahua and a very good friend whom I admire greatly. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Notincing a barely perceptible but (we felt) significant tail flick at those last words, of course we agreed, a bit red-faced over our faux pas. Quickly changing the subject, we asked about relations with BooMan the controversial pet human.
The black fur head cocked to one side, “BooMan, I believe, has the potential to become an excellent pet. I look forward to a long and mutually amicable and productive relationship. However,” and the head came straight up, “Appeasement has never been an option. I am confident that the current policy of containment will be successful.”
“After all,” the lustrous eyes softened. “I sincerely believe he is teachable.” Another smile.
A handsome white French poodle wheeled in a tray.
“And here is Pierre with lunch. I do hope you will join us. You are fond of steak tartare, of course?”
Mumbling our thanks, and something about irritable bowel syndrome that we hoped sounded properly regretful, we submitted to the blindfold once again, and was led over the ankle deep carpets once again to the elevator, with the strange feeling that we knew very little more about BooMan the dog than when the interview had begun.
