If you believe in Heaven, and that all living things end up there after they pass, then I’ve got good news for you. All those dogs that Michael Vick unmercifully executed in the dog fighting ring or out of it are being well taken care of in heaven by one of my dogs that passed on after a wonderful 14 years of life as my companion.

Mr. Kool and I deserved each other. I’ve had dogs in my life since the day I was born. I remember Dino the German shepherd who won the Lassie award for taking down an escaped murderer attempting to bust into my house in the middle of the night. There was Tunney, a black Belgian shepherd, who when he wasn’t exploring the acreage I lived on, could be found standing off a platoon of horny mixed breeds and others trying to breed a nearby female who’d gone into heat. A local cop called out to Tunney who came over willingly and let the cop drive him back to my house in the squad car. All the cops knew Dino and Tunney. They lived in the woods with me, miles from the city and the dangers that lay in wait there for wandering canines.

Then Mr. Kool came along. Unlike Midas, my easygoing over-sized moose of a golden retriever, Mr. Kool was all business. He kicked ass and took names. And he was like that from the day he was born. Mr. Kool could never be off leash. He was fortunate to have hooked up with me because any other owner would have probably given up on him after a week or two of his overpowering and nasty disposition.

Mr. Kool, a harlequin Akita, would tolerate simple commands such as sit and stay. That was it. Any other attempt to train him in the arts of civilized dog etiquette was futile. He was viciously protective of his environment and me. Left alone as a puppy while I was off to work, he ripped up the kitchen floor in less than a day. He broke down the front door of my third floor condo in Minnesota simply because someone had knocked on it wanting to sell Girl Scout cookies. If we came across another dog while we were out walking, he’d crouch down onto his belly, forelegs and hindquarters powering up, ready to go at it. Had someone else owned the dog, and not taken care to rein in his instinctive aggression I fear Mr. Kool would have been put down. And that would have been unfortunate. Despite his manner, Mr. Kool was your best friend. As long as it was just the two of you.

He braced Garrison Keiller up against a brick wall while we were out walking in the evening. I told Keiller to stay put, not to move, and tugged Mr. Kool back to my side. I apologized. Keiller was good about it. He knew he’d surprised the dog while coming out of the alley. The writer smiled and moved on.

If Michael Vick likes to fight dogs then let me have the chance to bring Mr. Kool back to life for a winner takes all against Vick. Just Kool and Vick in the four by four foot ring this privileged NFL primate used to send innocent animals to their death. Let Mr. Kool get back at Vick on behalf of all the dogs who had their skulls smashed by the quarterback when they didn’t fight hard enough. I don’t believe in heaven, but for those of you that do, Mr. Kool is up there comforting dogs that suffered unconscionably at the hands of the masters they loved so much. And believe me, given the chance, Mr. Kool would like nothing better than to send whatever shreds were left of Vick after he tore him to bits to the hell that’s reserved for all defective human beings who delight in torturing those who love them the most.

Karma balances our lives Mr. Vick. And Mr. Kool is waiting to do that. Anytime. Anywhere.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 23rd, 2007 at 9:17 am and is filed under Stuff I know. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.