THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)

25 - THE HUNT

I didn't give a shit. About anything, other than the new task, which was to scam more water, and maybe food, if they had it. I followed Tinto back to the stroller, and then followed behind as he pushed Lulubelle down the boulevard.

Lulubelle had a map. Actually, he had many maps, all of them hand drawn, indifferent notebooks he kept in his lap, which he constantly consulted. From the wisdom of these stained and wrinkled pages he barked orders, causing Tinto to grunt and execute abrupt turns down back streets and alleys. Quickly, we were somewhere else. And then somewhere else again.

Twists and turns (imagine taking a ream of yarn and tangling it all up, and then attempting follow a strand through the greater mess – that's what it felt like with those directions from Lulubelle) delivered us into another world. Not better, just different.

The interplay between Tinto and Lulubelle created this new world as much as anything else. They never stopped talking. I initially thought they were showing off for my benefit, or that was why they had wanted me to come along, to have an audience in order to complete the game they were playing. And then, at one point Tinto turned around,noticed me and said, "Shit, I'd forgotten you'd come along with us.Damn, honey bunny, you're a persistent little one."

He gave me another bottle of water, and Lulubelle bitched him out for it.

I kept following.

What did they talk about? When they weren't insulting each other, they talked dogs. They talked about dogs the way Generals talk about war,the way people I knew in high school talked about Dungeon And Dragons, the way I used to talk to myself on Skid Row about wantingto fuck women in their asses (note, the urge was still there, just currently not as, prominent, I suppose you could say).

They seemed to be tracking dogs, or at least they pretended to. Aside from his hand drawn maps, Lulubelle had tons of charts devoted to dogs. And Lulubelle would say, "We should have seen that pack of White Baked Alaska. It's because you're off. We're too early."

And Tinto would say, "You know we can't wait, because then we'll be off on the whole motherfucker. We might as well call it a day."

"And then you fool, what do you think that does for tomorrow?"

They would go on and on like this, with me behind them, hoping for more water, still hoping for some food, and then, wondering if that meant dog meat. I think I'd eaten dog once at a Chinese restaurant in Brandan Valley. Today, as long as it was cooked, I was pretty sure I could do it again.

But, as I discovered, they weren't trying to kill dogs. They were just watching them. Spotting them. Appreciating them. That first day they saw seven dogs, and when they saw a dog, they acted like they were in the presence of something holy, with Lulubelle madly scribbling details and arguing about such with Tinto.

"I would say it's a Glassy-Eyed, Gray-Hair Muffin."

"That's because you're blind. It's a Shaggy Sheep Crown. And it's a bitch.What's your timepiece telling you? Mark it – mark that shit down."

At some point I clued in that partaking in this activity with them sort of put me back on the Big Clock, so much that when Tinto peered athis watch – one of those huge military-looking devices that looked like it also contained a corkscrew and razor wire – and stated, "Five o'clock." I knew it was afternoon. It was dinner time.