From a new project:

Listo is golden red like the sun in the desert. Red nose. Red heart. Hell Heat.


APBT. American Pit Bull Terrier.

He is built like wood. Gamebred roots from a soft seed grew into a tree of powerful limber branches.

Man chopped down the tree, pulled down the sun, and carved it for his purpose:

Life and Death.

Listo does not care about any of that. He does what he does for what we can never understand:

Full force forward.

He is my familia, and I love him, even though I do not understand him. His very breath helps me and heals me.

Listo’s coat shines like golden red glitter. His eyes are hazel nuts that look out into craziness.

He charges. I let him loose, and he charges out into money green meadows. He races, spins around like a flying saucer, tumbles down, and flips over and over onto money green grass in order to scratch his back and enjoy the day.

He is a silly dog.

On Sundays he parades me through the San Fran Frisco city streets— La Misión, Downtown, the TL, North Beach. Around his bull neck and champion chest, he wears a Bulgarian gladiator’s red leather harness inspired by Eros, Amor. He pulls me as if he is hauling the heaviest hill, and I must pull against his mountains of muscles. We play this game, and he stops to sniff, always aware of things I cannot see or smell, but he sees, and he smells what is beyond truth.

The people see this family, this brotherhood, and I am proud that he has made me a star, even though I could never be him.

He eats blueberries, chicken, and cheese, and this makes him strong and happy.

Sometimes he looks at me with piercing understanding eyes that break my heart. Maybe he knows me better than I know myself.

He is altogether loveable with his chiseled cheeks and masculine muzzle, handsome as an atom bomb.

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