Chapter 10 Part V-1

One month after watching the movie "Last Home Run," we said goodbye to West Palm Beach and all the memories of it.There have been more than two murders in our neighborhood.However, it was not the horrific crime of murder that drove us away from our porch bungalow on Churchill Road in the end, but chaos and disorder.The house is overcrowded with two kids and all their play equipment.To satisfy the brothers' insatiable desire to play, our home became an important export point for American toy factories.Already weighing ninety-seven pounds, Marley couldn't turn without hitting anything.We lived in a two bedroom house and we foolishly thought the boys would be able to coexist peacefully in the second bedroom.However, they kept waking each other up, causing us to get up frequently at night to intervene in their bedrooms, and we had to move Crow into a narrow space between the kitchen and the garage.More formally, this space is my "home office," where I play guitar and pay my bills.To anyone who saw the place, there was absolutely no whitewash: we moved our little one out of the bedroom and into the open covered walkway on the side that connects the house to the garage.It sounds scary.The covered passage is half-extended from the roof of the built garage, so almost synonymous with the farmhouse's barn.What kind of parents raise their children in a barn? A "roofed passage" certainly doesn't sound like any kind of security: a place that is ventilated on all sides and unsheltered, where anything can visit by chance: dirt, mud and dust, allergens, stinging insects, bats, crime Molecules, perverts.A covered hallway is where you'd expect to find trash cans and wet tennis shoes.And, the fact that this is the place where we keep Marley's food and water bowls, even after Crowe settled there, not because it's the only space suitable for an animal, And simply because Marley was used to finding his food reserves there.

Our covered passage-with-a-nursery-place sounds a bit like Dickens's teenage misery, but the place really isn't that bad; it's even almost charming. .Originally, the site was constructed as a covered, outdoor passage between the house and the garage, which had been closed off by the previous owners.Before announcing the passage as a nursery, I replaced the old, leaky shutters with modern, well-fitted windows.I hung new curtains and put on a fresh coat of paint.Jenny spread soft festively painted rugs on the floor, and quirky movable sculptures hung from the ceiling.Now, what does this place look like?While Marley is having fun in the master bedroom, our son sleeps soundly in this hallway.

In addition, Jenny's working hours at the "Palm Beach Post" feature column have been changed to half-days, and she stays at home most of the time because she wants to maintain a balance between her children and her career.So it only made sense for us to relocate our home closer to my office.So we agreed that it was time to move. Life is full of little ironies, and the following fact is one of life's many. After months of searching, we settled on a house in a city in South Florida where I had found happiness by publicly mocking it.The place is Boca Raton, a name translated from Spanish that literally means "rat's mouth."

Boca Raton is a large Republican camp, with most of its population recently immigrated from New Jersey and New York.Most of the money in town is brand new notes, and most of the people who have it are dudes who don't know how to enjoy it without fooling themselves.Boca Raton is a land full of luxurious private cars on the road. Red sports cars can be seen everywhere. The whole city is covered with brushed exterior walls, guards guarding the door, and residential buildings that form a segregated state of affairs when surrounded by walls. It's stuffed.Men, clad in linen shorts and Italian loafers, spend too much time talking on their phones.The tanned women carried their favorite Gucci bags, their lustrous skin highlighted by silver and platinum jewelry on their necks and wrists.

The city has an abundance of plastic surgeons, with the biggest homes and the brightest smiles.For Polkadot women who are good at taking care of themselves, breast augmentation is a necessary operation.Younger women have their breasts trimmed to show off, while older women not only get their breasts trimmed, but also undergo facial plastic surgery to remove wrinkled skin, sagging cells, or other visible signs of aging. Visible signs of aging.Body sculpting, rhinoplasty, belly liposuction, tattoos, eyebrow dyeing, eyelash extensions and many other decorations make the lineup of cosmetics continue to grow, making the female population of the city look a bit strange, as if an anatomically An infantry army of orthotic inflatable dolls.As I once sang in a song I wrote for a satirical news piece: "Liposuction and silicone, a girl's best friends in Boca Raton."

In my column, I have been making fun of Polkadot's way of life, and I used its name as a target for my own firepower from the beginning.Residents of Boca Raton never refer to their city as Boca Raton.They call it by the familiar "Poca".And they don't pronounce it the way the dictionary teaches, but with a long "O".It's a tweak they gave the name with a soft, nasal, Jersey-sounding tone.The result became a "snap card"! There was a Disney film called Pocapperta in theaters at the time, so I wrote a series of satirical articles about the Indian princess, which I titled Pocapperta. Cabota.The heroine of my painting, dressed in gold and silver, is a lady living in the local suburbs and driving a pink BMW.Under the magic of surgery, her high breasts have touched the steering wheel, so that she can drive the BMW without hands.She was on her phone and combing her gelled hair in the rearview mirror as she sped toward a beauty parlor that would tan her skin with ultraviolet rays.The hut where Pocabota lived was probably designed by a crayon designer, otherwise it would not be so colorful.Every morning, she burns off excess calories at a gym.But as long as she can find a parking lot within ten paces of her front door, she'll spend her afternoons shopping at the city's famous commercial hubs, credit cards from her trusty major American banks Look for fur coats.

"Mizner Park has cost me countless credit cards," Pocaberta drawled solemnly in one of my op-eds.She was referring to the city's most expensive shopping venues.In another post, she adjusted her deerskin Magic Bra for tax-deductible cosmetic surgery. My characterization is brutal, harsh and unforgiving.Just a little exaggeration.The "Poca Bertas" who actually live in the city of Poca are the biggest fans of those columns, and they try to guess which of them my fictional heroine is influenced by. Inspiration (I will never tell the reader this secret).I am frequently invited to speak in front of social occasions and community groups, and every time someone will stand up and ask, "Why do you hate Polkadot so much?" It's not that I hate Polkadot, I told him, it's just Because I like farce very much.There is no place in the world with a name as cute and ridiculous as "mouse mouth".

It became interesting when Jenny and I finally spotted a house.The house is located at the heartbreak point of Boca's history, halfway between the estates of East Boca Raton's docklands and the swaggering gated communities of West Boca Raton (I'm happy to offer to Conscious residents point out that the location makes me feel outside the city limits of unincorporated Palm Beach County).Our new neighborhood is one of the few middle-class areas in the city, and its residents like to joke that they are on the opposite side of two railroad tracks, caught between two opposing forces.Indeed, there are two railroad tracks, one defining the eastern boundary of the neighborhood and the other the western boundary.At night, you can lie in bed and listen to the freight trains heading to and from Miami.

"Are you crazy?" I said to Jenny. "We can't move to Polkadot! I'd rather jump on the rails and get out of town." "Oh, come on," she said, "you're exaggerating again." The "Sun Guardian" I work for is a newspaper that occupies a dominant position in the Boca Raton area. Its circulation is far ahead of the "Miami Herald", "Palm Beach Post" and even the local "Poca Raton". Dayton News.My columns are widely read in the city and its western developments, and I'm easily recognizable because my photo accompanies my column pages.I don't think I'm exaggerating. "They'll eat me alive and hang my body in front of the Tiffany store," I said.

But we've been looking for months and this is the first house that meets all our criteria.Right size, right price, right location.The public schools are as good as the private schools in South Florida, and although Boca Raton is a very shallow city, it has an excellent natural landscape system, including some of the most pristine, The most pristine beach.I tremblingly agreed to the house purchase plan.I felt like a secret agent sneaking into an enemy camp without any cover.A brutish fellow would slip through the gate, a fellow who had the audacity to lash out at Polkadot in the article came to Polkadot's garden party uninvited.And who can blame them for not welcoming me?

When we first arrived at our new abode, I consciously chose a quiet, furtive course of action because I was sure all eyes were on me.My ears burn and I imagine people whispering as I pass by.After I wrote a column that made myself popular in the neighborhood (and in the process, I was humiliatingly forced to largely retract what I had said), I got a lot of comments like "You Demeaning our city, and now you want to live here? What a shameless hypocrite!" and other fierce letters.I have to admit, they were right.An ardent advocate of the city with whom I worked was eager to confront me face-to-face. "So," he said gleefully, "you think tacky Polca isn't such a bad place after all, huh? Those parks, taxes, schools, beaches, and zoning, when it's time to buy a house Hou, these are not broken, are they?" And all I could do was surrender and beg for mercy. However, I soon discovered that most of my neighbors, those who psychologically despised the shallowness of the city but chose to settle there for various reasons, and were therefore caught between the two tracks, were of great importance to me. The attacks I wrote were sympathetic and understanding, and one of them called the person I attacked in my column "the vulgar local among us."So, soon I felt at home here. Our four-bedroom house, built in the 1970s, was twice the size of our original home, but without much of the charm.Yet the place had potential, and we gradually put our stamp on it.We ripped the thick-pile carpet to shreds and installed oak flooring in the living room and Italian tile elsewhere.We replaced the ugly sliding glass doors with painted French doors, and I slowly transformed the grassy front yard into a beautiful garden filled with ginger, heliconia, and passion lianas. The garden attracts both butterflies and passers-by to stop and watch. Two of the best features of our new home have nothing to do with the house itself.Looking out of our living room window is a small urban garden with exercise facilities installed under towering pine trees.The children love this garden very much.In the backyard, just outside the new French doors, is a swimming pool.We didn't want a swimming pool because we were worried about drowning our two toddlers, so when Jenny suggested filling it up, our real estate agent turned white with surprise.The first thing we did on the first day we moved in was to surround the pool with a four-foot-high fence, making it look like a maximum-security prison.The boys—Patrick was just three years old when we arrived at Polkadot's new home and Crowe was eighteen months old—were as passionate about the water as a pair of dolphins.That park is an extension of our backyard, and the pool is an extension of the milder seasons we hold dear.It wasn't long before we learned that a swimming pool in Florida can make the difference between an almost unbearable summer heat and an actual enjoyment of it. No one in our family loves the pond in the backyard as much as our water-savvy dog. You know, he was the hound of fishermen who toiled in the rough waters off the coast of Newfoundland hundreds of years ago. proud descendants of.If the pool door was open, Marley would lunge for the pool, taking off from the family room, then parachuting outside the open French doors, and then through the brick outdoor dining area (attached to the residence) usually paved with stone slabs, etc., for dining or entertainment) lightly jumps on it, and finally lands in the pool, his belly falls into the water, making a loud noise, and igniting the geyser (spraying water intermittently into the air A natural hot spring of flowers and steam columns) sprays into the air, causing waves to rush to the edge of the pool.Swimming with Marley is a potentially life-threatening adventure, a bit like swimming on an ocean liner.He'll be swimming toward you at full speed, his paws bobbing vigorously up and down in front of his body.You thought he was going to turn at the last minute, but instead he ran straight into you and tried to climb ashore.If your head is above the water's surface, then he will force you to sink below the water's surface. "What do I look like, a boat dock?" I'd say, and wrap my arms around him to let him breathe, his front paws still in place as he licked the water dry from my face. Will do a paddling pose on autopilot. One thing our new house didn't have was a "bunker" that would keep Marley from breaking through it.In our old house, the one-car garage, made of concrete, was indestructible, and it had two windows, which made being in the garage even in the sweltering summer heat. A thing that can be endured and a little comfort can be gained.Our house in Polkadot has a two-car garage, but it's not a suitable living space for a Marley or any other life form that can't survive temperatures over 150 degrees Fahrenheit.Because this garage has no windows, it is very stuffy.And it was built of plasterboard, and Marley had proven himself quite adept at taking down any defense that wasn't concrete.His thunderstorm panic-induced aggression only got worse, despite being sedated. When we first left him alone in this new house, we locked him in the laundry room off the kitchen and left him with a basket and a large bowl of water.By the time we returned home a few hours later, he had already left a striking scratch on the door.Luckily the loss wasn't too great, but we bet our own house that would take us the next thirty years to buy, and we knew it wasn't a good sign. "Maybe he's just getting used to his new surroundings," I suggested. "There's barely a cloud in the sky," Jenny remarked suspiciously. "If there's a storm coming, what's going to happen?" The answer to Jenny's question was revealed the second time we left him alone.When the thunderstorm anvil (the swollen part of the upper part of the thundercloud usually associated with the development of thunderstorms) rolled in, we quickly interrupted our outings and hurried home, but it was too late.Jenny was walking briskly in front of me, and when she opened the laundry room door, she stopped suddenly and let out a terrified cry, "Oh, my God!" The kind of cry one makes when one discovers a dead body hanging from a chandelier.Then she yelled again, only this time twice as fast: "Oh...my...God!" I looked over her shoulder and saw more than I had feared. Oops.Marley stood there, panting wildly, blood dripping from his paws and mouth.There were falling dog hairs everywhere, as if the thunder had frightened him to drop the hairs.This time the damage was worse than any he had made before, that is to say, the loss was very heavy, and the number of damaged objects was extremely large.He had chipped away an entire wall, exposing even the upright posts on the wall frame.The floor was littered with plaster and wood chips and bent nails.Wires running inside the walls are exposed.The floor and walls were stained with blood, which, to put it mildly, looked like the scene of a shooting. "Oh my God!" Jenny said a third time. "Oh my God!" I repeated her exclamation.That's all the languages ​​we both can speak at the moment. We stood dumbfounded for a few seconds at the spectacle of "carnage" before I finally said, "Okay, we can handle that. These can all be reinstalled." Jenny told me Cast a look of distrust - she had seen my maintenance process. "I'm going to call a drywaller to have it repaired professionally," I said, "and I don't want to do it myself this time." I sedated Marley and secretly worried that the recent A destructive "binge" may once again send Jenny back into the depression she fell into after giving birth to Crowe.However, those melancholy days seemed to be far behind her.Even I am a little surprised at how optimistic she is about postpartum depression today. “We won’t have a new house unless we have hundreds of energetic men involved in rebuilding it,” she quipped. "That's what I was thinking," I said. "I'm going to give a few more speaking engagements to make some money. That's how I can afford the repairs." Within minutes, Marley had calmed down.His eyelids became heavy and his eyes became bloodshot, which is his usual reaction when he is anesthetized.He looked like he was in the middle of a black rock concert.I didn't like seeing him like this, I always hated it, so I always tried not to sedate him.But the pill would help him get past the fear, the overwhelming sense of threat that existed only in his conscious mind.If he was human, I would have declared him a confirmed psychopath.He has symptoms of paranoia, a paranoid belief that a dark, evil force has descended from the sky to sweep him away.He curled up on the rug in front of the kitchen sink and let out a deep sigh.I knelt beside him, stroking his blood-stained hair. "What shall we do with you?" I said.He didn't look up, just looked at me with his bloodshot eyes -- the saddest, most pitiful eyes I've ever seen.He just stared at me like he was trying to tell me something, something very important that he wanted me to understand. "I know," I said, "I know you can't help it." The next day, Jenny and I took our two little boys to a pet store to buy a giant cage.The store has cages of various sizes, and after I described Marley's size and features to the clerk, he took us to the largest cage in their store.The cage is really big, big enough for a lion to stand and turn around in it.The fence of this cage is made of heavy steel plate and has two barrel-style latches, so that once the cage door is closed, the cats and dogs inside cannot fly.Crowe and Patrick both climbed into the cage, and I slid the latch shut, locking the two of them inside for a while. "What do you two think?" I asked, "Can this cage hold our super big dog?" Crowe staggered, staggered toward the cage door, put his fingers through the bars like a perennial prison inmate, and said, "I'm in jail." "Marley's going to be our prisoner!" broke in Patrick, delighted at the prospect. When we got home, we set up the crate next to the washing machine, a large cage that took up almost half of the laundry room.When the cage was all set up, I yelled, "Come on, Marley!" I threw a ox bone into the cage, and he jumped up and galloped merrily toward the bone.I closed the cage door behind him and bolted it.He stood there, chewing on the delicious meal I had given him, unafraid of the new life experience he was about to enter, an experience known in the mental health field as "involuntary incarceration." "This will be your new home while we're not here," I said happily.Marley stood there, panting contentedly, without a trace of anxiety on his face, and then he lay back and let out a sigh. "A good sign," I said to Jenny, "a very good sign." That night, we decided to put the most heavily guarded system ever designed to contain Marley to the test.This time, I didn't even need a cow bone to lure Marley into the cage.I just opened the cage door, gave a whistle, and he walked in, his tail thumping on the steel deck. "Be a good boy, Marley," I said.As we put the boys out in the minivan for dinner, Jenny asked, "You know what?" "Know what?" I asked. "For the first time since we had him, I didn't have to be fidgety when we left Marley home alone," she said, "and I didn't even realize until now how nervous it was. " "I know what you mean," I said. "It's always been a guessing game: 'What will our dog destroy this time?'" "Or 'How much is this movie going to cost us tonight?'" "It's like Russian roulette." "I think buying this crate is the best money we've ever spent," she said. “We should have bought this cage a long time ago,” I agreed with her. “There is no price for mental peace.” We had a nice dinner outside and then took a short walk on the beach watching the sun go down.Two kids splashing sea water, chasing seagulls, holding sand in their hands.Jenny was rarely so relaxed.Knowing that Marley was safe in his cage, unable to harm himself or anything else, was a sort of placebo.As we walked out onto the sidewalk in front of our house, Jenny exclaimed, "This was such a good time out!" When I was about to agree with Jenny, something suddenly appeared in my sight, and an unlucky intuition flashed in my mind.I turned my head and stared at the window next to the front door.The shutters are closed, as they always are when we leave the house.But about a foot up from the bottom of the window, the metal slats were bent, and something was poking through between the slats. a black thing.And it's wet.And against the glass. "What's that—?" I said. "How's that possible... Marley?" Sure enough, when I opened the front door, we were greeted by a dog-welcoming committee, and Marley was waddling around the hall, looking very happy that we were back home.Jenny and I immediately split up and searched the entire house, checking every room and closet for any clues of Marley's unsupervised crimes.But the house was intact.I met Jenny in the laundry room.The crate door was wide open, hanging down like a stone on the tomb of Jesus on Easter morning.It was as if a mysterious co-conspirator had sneaked into our home and freed Marley, a prisoner we had imprisoned.I sat down by the crate and took a closer look.Both of the barrel latches were slid back open, and—an important clue—they were still dripping with saliva. "This looks like an insider case," I said, "here is a Houdini Overcoming numerous difficulties, he successfully escaped from this prison." "I can't believe it," Jenny said.Then she uttered an inelegant phrase angrily, which I was glad the kids weren't too close to hear. We always picture Marley as dull as algae, but he was smart enough to figure out how to use his long, powerful tongue to get through the fence and slowly slide the barrel latch out of the way. slides out of its slot.He overcame the odds and regained his freedom.Over the next few weeks, he demonstrated his ability to easily repeat this little trick whenever he wanted to.Our maximum security prison has in fact proved to be a system whose security performance has yet to be perfected.Some days we found him peacefully resting in his cage when we got home; other days he was waiting by the front window for our return.It seems that "involuntary imprisonment" is a difficult concept for Marley to truly experience. We started by replacing metal locks with heavy cables.The new equipment worked for a while, but one day, with a distant rumbling from the horizon, we hurried back home only to find the bottom corner of the cage door peeled off, as if someone had used a giant It was like prying it open with a can opener, while Marley standing aside was terrified, his bloody claws were firmly stuck to the chest cavity again.I bent the door back into place as best I could, and we started wrapping wire around the sliding bolts and the corners of the cage door.Before long, we were working on repairs and reinforcements to the cage itself, while Marley continued to use his well-developed muscles to break through the door.Within three months, the iron cage that we thought was impenetrable, and indeed appeared to be, fell apart as if hit by a direct hit from a howitzer: the bars were twisted, the entire frame was pried When it opened, the cage door was a mess, its sides protruding outward.I continued to do my best to repair the cage, and the cage continued to weakly withstand the impact of Marley's burly body.All the illusions of defensiveness that this mechanism once gave us are gone.Every time we go out, even for just an hour and a half, we wonder if this time our manic prisoner is going to break out the door and stage another scene of tearing the couch to pieces and chiseling the walls. Violence that opens or eats a door.Once again we bid farewell to that fleeting peace of mind. Marley was as out of place in Poca Raton as I was.Polkadot had (and certainly still has) the world's smallest, loudest, most domineering dogs in sheer proportions out of proportion to the size of the city.This is a favorite pet dog among poca potter women as a fashionable "accessory".These dogs are precious little things that often wear bows in their fur, cologne around their necks, and some even have their toenails painted, and you'll be in the most unlikely See them everywhere—when you're waiting in line at a bagel shop, you'll catch a glimpse of them in the designer handbag of the woman in front of you; in their hostess' towels on the beach Dozing; strapped around their necks with rhinestones (a colorless artificial gemstone of leaded glass or glass, often with a diamond-like luminous surface), they dashed into an expensive in the antique shop.Most of the time, you can find them perched aristocratically on their owners' laps under the steering wheel in a Mercedes, BMW or Ferrari idling along in a business district.They were to Marley what Grace Kelly was to Jomey Pyle.They were petite, sophisticated, and of good taste; Marley was a big, blunt-headed, brusque fellow who liked to sniff his own or other dogs' genitals.Marley wished desperately that they would invite him into their circle; and they wished desperately that this would not happen. With the obedience school certificate he'd recently swallowed and digested, Marley's walks were fairly manageable, but if he saw something he liked, He would still lunge at it without hesitation, completely disregarding the danger of being strangled.He was willing to pay the price of suffocating the mongrels that were everywhere when we wandered the downtown area.Every time he spotted a mongrel, he would sprint towards it, and I or Jenny would be dragged behind him, clutching the end of the leash, the noose tight. It was strangling around his throat, making him gasp and cough.Each time Marley would be utterly snubbed, not only by Polkadot's miniatures, but by Polkadot's owners, who would snatch young Fifi or Susan as if they were their own.宠物狗从一只短吻鳄（两一种产于美洲的鳄鱼，有尖利的牙齿和有力的颚部）的下颚中营救出来一样。然而马利似乎对此冷遇与嫌弃并不介意。第二只迷你狗进入到了他的视线之中，于是他便又朝着这只狗飞奔而去了，而他刚刚遭受到的情人的抛弃，并没有能够阻止他的热情与勇气。作为一个从来不擅长处理约会当中遭受拒绝状况的男人，我对于他的这种执著深感钦佩。 户外就餐是波卡生活中的一个十分重要的部分，而且城里许多家餐馆都会在棕榈树下面安排露天的座位，棕榈树的树干和枝叶用一串串细小的白灯装饰着。这些户外的就餐点，不仅可以让食客们在就餐的同时观赏户外的景色，而且本身也是一道可以供行人或游客们观赏的风景，当你的同伴茫然地凝视着天空的时候，你就可以坐在这儿喝着咖啡或者在手提电话中与人闲聊一番。波卡的迷你狗是这一户外氛围当中一个十分重要的部分。夫妇们将他们的狗带在身边，把栓狗的皮带钩在由铁锻造而成的桌子上，狗儿们在那儿心满意足地蜷缩起身体，有时候甚至坐在了它们主人旁边的桌子上面，脑袋高高抬起，姿态傲慢，仿佛它们因为不满侍者的疏忽而恼羞成怒似的。 在一个周日的下午，詹妮和我一致认为，将全家带到一个十分受欢迎的聚会地点去享受一顿户外的美食，将会是一件十分有意思的事情。“当身处波卡的时候，就做波卡当地人经常做的事情。”我说道。我们将男孩们和马利在小型客货车里安顿好，然后便朝着米兹勒商业区进发了。米兹勒商业区是仿效一个意大利露天广场修建而成的市区购物中心，有宽阔的人行道以及无数就餐的地方。我们停好了车，在购物中心里闲逛起来，走过了一个又一个户外就餐点，看着那些用餐者们，也被他们看着。詹妮将孩子们放进了一辆很容易被误认为是维修手推车的双人轻便婴儿车里，用带子把他们束好，婴儿车的后面堆放着所有蹒跚学步的孩子们的必要配备——从苹果酱到湿纸巾。我走在她的身旁，马利则走在我的身旁，但由于他对波卡的迷你狗保持着高度的警觉性，所以几乎无法自制。他甚至比往常更加狂野了，一旦接近了某只纯种狗，他便会腾跃而起，于是我只有拼命地拽住拴在他颈上的皮带。他的舌头垂挂在嘴巴外面，猛烈地喘着气，声音大得就像是一辆轰然作响的机车。 我们选中了一家菜单上所列出的菜肴十分丰富的餐馆，然后在附近徘徊了一阵子，直到一张街旁的桌子空出人来。这张桌子实在是太完美了，不仅有树荫遮挡，还可以看到广场中央的喷泉，而且足够重，这样我们才能够确保它经得起一只极易激动、重达一百镑的拉布拉多犬的突然袭击。我将马利的皮带的一端钩在了一个桌腿上，然后我们点了些饮料——两瓶啤酒和两杯苹果汁。 “为了与我美丽的家人所度过的这美丽的一天，我们干杯。”詹妮说道，举起了她手中的酒瓶。我们碰了碰我们的啤酒瓶，孩子们也将他们的吸杯碰撞在了一起。然而，就在这时，事情发生了。是如此迅速，事实上，我们甚至都还没有来得及意识到，事情便发生了。我们所知道的只是，那一刻我们正坐在一张可爱的户外餐桌旁，为这美丽的一天而举杯庆贺，然后我们的桌子便开始移动起来了，撞开了许多张其他的桌子，也撞到了不少无辜的旁观者的身上，制造出了一场恐慌，当它刮擦在由混凝土铺设而成的路面上的时候，发出了刺耳的、达到技术等级的尖利声响。在第一个瞬间，在我和詹妮确切地意识到厄运降临到了我们的头上之前，这看上去像是我们的桌子被某种神秘的外力掌控了，想迫使我们这几个无知的波卡的入侵者离开这座城市，因为我们显然不属于这儿。在第二个瞬间，我发现并不是我们的桌子被鬼魂附体了，而是我们的狗。只见马利正使出全身的力气嘎嚓嘎嚓地前进着，他脖颈上的皮带绷得紧紧的，就仿佛钢琴（钢）丝一般。 在第三个瞬间里，我看到马利朝前走着，而桌子则被他拖在身后。在人行道上距离我们五十尺远的地方，有一只精巧的法国狮子狗正在她的主人身旁闲荡着，鼻子朝天。“该死，”我恢复了思考的能力，“原来马利不惜拖动着笨重的餐桌，不惜冒着窒息而死的危险，就是为了这只狮子狗！”詹妮和我还呆呆地坐在椅子上，手里拿着饮料，而两个小男孩则坐在我们两人座位之间的轻便婴儿车里。我们这个美好的周日的下午，可以说是完美无瑕的，除了我们的餐桌现在正破开人群朝前移动而去之外。在愣了一刹那之后，我和詹妮同时站起身来，尖声叫喊着、奔跑着，一边跑一边向我们周围的顾客们道着歉。当桌子乘风破浪一路前行并且刮擦着露天广场的地面时，我率先逮住了这个逃跑者。我抓住了桌角，站稳脚跟，使出全力向后倾斜着身体。很快詹妮也站到了我的身旁，帮忙往后拖住了桌子。我感觉我们就像是西部电影里的动作英雄一样，在一辆失控的火车脱离铁轨或者跌入悬崖之前，拼尽我们的所有来控制住它。在这场骚乱中间，詹妮费力地扭过头来，越过自己的肩膀大声喊道：“我们一会儿就回来，孩子们！”“我们一会儿就回来？”她这番话听上去显得极其稀松平常，仿佛是在我们意料之中与计划之中的事情，仿佛我们经常做这类事情一样。在一时冲动之下我突然觉得，哦，为什么不可以呢，让马利带领我们绕着商业中心来一次小小的餐桌漫步，将会是一件很有趣的事情啊，或许沿途还可以浏览一下琳琅满目的橱窗，在我们巡游一圈回来时，说不定正好赶上吃开胃菜呢。 当我们费尽九牛二虎之力终于使桌子停了下来的时候，已经步伐蹒跚、摇摇晃晃的马利，距离那只狮子狗以及她那位感到极为窘迫的主人，仅仅只差一步之遥了。我转过身，检查了一下孩子们是否安然无恙地待在原处，结果却意外地瞥见了那些与我一同在户外就餐的人们的脸上所流露出来的十分有意思的表情。这就好像是一幕EF Hutton 广告中出现的场景：原本匆匆忙忙的全体人群突然之间凝固不动、鸦雀无声，等待着听到一个投资建议的词语被低声发出来。男人们在谈话中途停了下来，他们的手里还握着手提电话；女人们眼睛发直，嘴巴张得老大。波卡的民众们显然处在了惊骇之中。这一巨大的寂静最后是由我们家的小克罗打破的。“马利在散步！”他快活地尖声叫喊道。 一位服务生冲了过来，帮助我把桌子拖回到了原来的位置，而詹妮则将马利死命地抱住——他的视线仍然聚焦在他所渴望的那个目标上。“让我重新布置好餐桌吧。”服务生说道。 “没有那个必要了，”詹妮冷淡地回答说，“我们把饮料的钱付完之后就走了。” 在我们短途旅行去波卡的户外就餐点那极为精彩的一幕发生之后没过多久，我便在图书馆里发现了一本名为《没有糟糕的狗》的书，作者是备受称赞的英国驯狗师芭岜拉?伍德豪斯。正如书名所揭示的那样，《没有糟糕的狗》一书提出了与马利的第一位教练，杜米纳瑞克斯小姐所抱持的相同的信念，那便是——导致一只犬科动物是成长为一只无药可救的狗还是一只伟大的狗的唯一的症结，便是一个迷糊的、犹豫不决的、意志薄弱的人类主人。伍德豪斯认为，狗本身是不存在任何问题的，并没有优劣之别；而人才是问题之所在。该书在接下来的一系列章节中，继续描述了一些最为恶劣的犬科动物们所做的许多超乎人们想象的行为。其中有会不间断地嚎叫、不间断地掘地、不间断地打斗、不间断地性交、不间断地咬东西的狗。还有会憎恨所有的男人的狗以及会憎恨所有的女人的狗；还有会从主人那里偷东西的狗以及会出于嫉妒而去对毫无防范能力的小婴儿发动攻击的狗。甚至还有将自己的狗屎给吃掉的狗。“谢天谢地，”我心想，“至少马利还从来没有吃过自己的狗屎。” 在我阅读的时候，我开始对于我们这只缺点多多的拉布拉多猎犬抱有了好感。我们曾经逐渐地得出了一个坚定的结论：马利确实是世界上最糟糕的一只狗。现在，当我从书中读到了马利并没有表现过的各种各样恐怖的行为之后，我简直就如同一个被困在茫茫大海中的人突然得到了一个救生圈一样备受鼓舞，重新支撑起了求生的信心。他的身体中并没有一根低劣的骨头。他吠叫的频率并不太高。他也不咬人。他也不攻击其他的狗，除了因追求爱情而对一些漂亮的母狗飞奔过去之外。最重要的是，他不会吃掉自己的粪便或者在上面打滚。而且我告诉自己说：世界上没有糟糕的狗，只有像我和詹妮这样的无能的、不够残忍的狗主人。马利变成今天的这个样子，都是我们的过错。 然后我翻到了第24章，标题为“同精神不稳定的狗生活在一起”。我一边阅读，一边大声地吞咽着口水。伍德豪斯将马利的情形描述得如此贴切和准确，以致于我甚至怀疑她是否在那个被捣毁了的板条箱里同他进行过一番交谈。她描述了那一系列狂躁的奇怪的举动，当被单独留在家中的时候的破坏性行为，被凿开的地板以及被咬碎的地毯。她甚至描述了为了让这些精神混乱的狗恢复平静，而将使用镇静剂作为孤注一掷的最后的手段。 “有一些狗天生就情绪不稳定，有一些狗则是因为它们的生活条件而逐渐患上精神不稳定症状的，可是结果却是同样的：这些狗非但没有为它们的主人带来欢乐，反而变成了他们的一种焦虑，令他们付出了昂贵的修理费和医药费，而且经常还会给整个家庭带来一种完全的绝望。”伍德豪斯写道。我低头看了看正在我的脚边嗅来嗅去的马利，然后说道：“听上去很熟悉，对吧？” 在接下来的题为“反常的狗”的章节中，伍德豪斯以一种听之任之的感受写道：“假如你希望去饲养一只不同寻常的狗的话，那么我不得不一而再、再而三地强调的是，你必须要勇敢地去面对一种稍微会受到限制的生存状态。”“你的意思是一种哪怕只是出去买一加仑的牛奶也要心惊胆战的生活吗？”我心里想。“尽管你可能会喜爱一只弱智的狗，”她继续写道，“但其他人不应因此而遭遇诸多的不便。”“其他的人们？比如，假设来说，周日下午坐在佛罗里达州波卡拉顿市某个商业广场人行道上的咖啡桌旁的用餐者们吗？” 伍德豪斯彻底掌握了我们的狗与我们的悲惨处境之间相互依存的生存关系。我们具有所有特征：运气不好的、意志薄弱的主人；精神不稳定的、无法控制的狗；可以列出一长串清单的遭到损坏的财物；愤怒的、被牵连的陌生人和邻居们。我们简直就是教科书里的典型案例。“恭喜恭喜，马利，”我对他说道，“你具备一只弱智狗的资格了。”听到自己的名字被唤到，马利睁开了眼睛，伸了个懒腰，滚动了一下身体，把爪子伸向了空中。 我期待着伍德豪斯为拥有这类缺陷商品的主人们提供一个愉快的解决方案、一些有帮助的技巧，当这些技巧得到恰当运用的时候，甚至能够将最狂躁的宠物狗转变成可以在威斯敏斯特上一展身姿的狗。可是，她用一句更为隐晦的说明结束了自己的这本书：“只有精神错乱的狗的主人，才能够真正知道健全的狗与精神错乱的狗之间的界限在哪里。没有人可以告诉狗主人们如何应对后一类狗。我，作为一名伟大的狗的热爱者，觉得让它们安乐死将会更为仁慈些。” “让它们安乐死？”我吃惊地吞咽了一下口水。为了防止自己没有表达清楚，她补充道：“当然了，当所有的训练以及兽医的帮助都智穷力竭的时候，当这只狗能够以一种理性的正常状态生存已经不存在任何希望的时候，对于宠物也好，对于狗主人也好，让这只狗长眠都将会是更为仁慈的做法。” 甚至连芭芭拉?伍德豪斯，一位动物的热爱者，一位成功地训练了成千上百只被主人认为已经无望的狗的训练师，居然也承认有些狗是无药可救的。如果让她来做决定的话，它们都将被人道毁灭，送到那伟大的天堂里专为犬科动物们所设立的精神病院中去。 “别担心，大家伙，”我说道，斜下身体去抚摸着马利的腹部，“在这栋房子里我们打算施行的睡眠，都只会是那种让你能够苏醒过来的类型。” 他夸张地叹了口气，然后又重新回到了向那只令他魂牵梦萦的法国狮子狗表达爱慕之情的美梦中去了。 与此同时我们也得知，并非所有的拉布拉多犬都是被平等地创造出来的。这一血统实际上具有两种截然不同的支系：英国拉布拉多犬和美国拉布拉多犬。英国的支系相对于美国的支系而言，个头更小、更矮壮，脑袋更为短小、结实，性情更为和善、冷静。它们在展览中更受人们的欢迎。而属于美国这一支系的拉布拉多犬，个头明显大一些，也更强壮一些，有着更加光滑而不是短厚型的面部特征。它们以其无穷的精力和兴奋而闻名，并且多半被用在了狩猎以及运动领域，并且极受欢迎。但也正是因为美国的拉布拉多犬所具有的这种在森林中无可阻挡的优良品质，使得它们在家庭中成为令主人们难以应对的棘手挑战。它们那过于充沛的精力，正如书中所警告的那样，是不应当被低估的。 作为一本为宾夕法尼亚州的猎犬饲养者们所撰写的小册子，《无穷尽的山地拉布拉多犬》一书对其进行了这样的一番解释：“如此之多的人问我们：'英国拉布拉多犬与美国（田径）拉布拉多犬之间的区别是什么？'二者存在着一个非常大的区别，美国的养狗俱乐部在对品种进行划分的时侯，也将这一区别归入在了考虑之列。它们在体形以及性情上具有不同之处。如果你正在寻找着一只严格的进行田径比赛的田径狗的话，那么就去选用美国拉布拉多犬吧。它们体格健壮、肌肉发达、个高、瘦长，但是却具有非常容易激动和亢奋的个性，而这一特性使得它们不太适合成为最优秀的'家庭狗'。而另一方面，英国拉布拉多犬在体形上短而结实、矮壮，身材更短一些，性情非常甜美、安静、柔顺和可爱。” 我并不需要花费太多时间便可以猜出马利属于哪一支系。一切都开始有章可循了。我们盲目地挑选了一种最适合于一整天都在一片空旷无物的茫茫荒野之上拼命奔跑的拉布拉多犬的类型。如果我们一开始选择的时侯盲目与不走运还不够充分的话，那么我们的特殊选择便只能碰巧是一只精神错乱的、四肢松散的、无论是训练、镇静剂抑或犬科精神病治疗法都无法将其成功控制的拉布拉多犬了，一只即使像芭芭拉?伍德豪斯这样富有经验的驯狗师也认为最好的应对方法是将其安乐死的弱智狗的样本。“好极了，”我想道，“现在我们查明原因了。” 就在伍德豪斯的书使我们看清了马利的疯狂神志之后不久，一位邻居问我们是否可以在他们出外度假期间代为照看一下他们的猫咪，为期一周。“当然，”我们一口答应了，“把他带过来吧。”与一只狗，尤其是像马利这样的一只狗相比，猫咪只不过是小菜一碟。猫咪的自制性要高得多，而且这只猫咪特别害羞，而且不易被抓获，尤其是当他在马利周围的时候。他一整天都躲藏在沙发下面，仅仅当我们入睡之后才会出来吃他的食物，他时刻将自己保持在被马利捕捉的范围之外，而且使用了一个装小猫粪便的盒子，我们分外谨慎地将这个盒子远远地藏在了游泳池外围有遮蔽物的室外就餐处的拐角里。这应该万无一失了，真的。马利几乎完全没有意识到房子里面还有一只猫咪的存在。 在这只猫咪同我们待在一起的第三天，我在黎明时分醒了过来，因为我听到巨大的强劲击打声在床垫里共振着。睁开眼一看，只见马利正站在床旁边兴奋地颤抖着，他的尾巴高频率地击打在床垫上，发出了很大的撞击声。我伸出手来想拥抱他，然而这给了他急于逃避开去的动机。他后腿立地腾跃着，在床边跳起舞来。马利的曼波舞。“好吧，这次你又有了什么？”我向他问道，眼睛仍然紧闭着。仿佛是要回答我的问话一般，马利骄傲地“扑通”一声将他的战利品吐在了清爽的床单上，距离我的脸仅仅几英寸之遥。在头昏眼花的状态之中，我花费了一分钟的时间去猜想这个战利品究竟是什么东西。这个物体很小，黑色的，形状无法确切地去描述，而且上面还裹着一层含有砂砾的沙子。然后，这个物体的味道进入到了我的鼻孔中。一种辛辣的、刺鼻的、腐烂的、恶臭的味道。我直挺挺地坐直了身体，然后将詹妮推醒过来。我指着在床单上闪闪发光的马利送给我们的礼物。 “那不是……”詹妮的声音出现了一种突然的、强烈的情感上的转变。 “是的，是它，”我说道，“他袭击了装小猫粪便的盒子。”