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58 the minnesota review E. Shaskan Bumas Morón He was named after an Argentine soccer player. The crack about his intelligence was unknown to the little boy who named him. He is a neurotic dog. After a soccer game, when the fireworks go offat the stadium, where the explosions used to be firingsquads, he jumps into my house through the window, which on account of it being only a foot off the ground, he probably does not know is a window and not a door. He is a very large dog, dirty from rolling in the outside, but he shivers in the corner of the shower for hours, so if I want to take one, forget it. A dog psychiatrist might be more specific: abandonment issues, the traumas of his early life on the street. He looks at you clueless when he returns from the street, where he has found a littler dog, picked it up in his mouth, and shaken it for a few seconds until it was no longer a dog anymore. Not that he is a coward picking only on little dogs: he also rips the throats of still bigger dogs. But this is not a defense of Morón. He is screamed at, and looks at you cluelessly What? he seems to say, his head tilted, his tail thumping impatiently . Are you implying that I've done something wrong? What? Morón is quiet when I come home late and lifts perhaps an eyelid , perhaps just an eyebrow as I flip through my keys. Perhaps he knows the two little yapsters next door that bark at me late at night when I am coming home in the quiet, scaring me to near heart attack in the dark. There were three once and that may explain their hatred because Morón picked up one and shook it until it was just meat and bones and fur. Jesus on a leash, Morón. Where will it stop? Maybe one day Morón will have some moral revelation, some dog epiphany, and after a soccer match, when the fireworks are all over, I will come home to find him in the shower stall, his paws slit and stretched out to grab at some peace and understanding. In the middle of the night, I am awakened by the rattling of my windows and the awning. Morón, I scream, would you cut it out. But the windows and awning keep rattling, and when I get up, I feel the whole house shaking and see Morón seated in the middle of the yard, which is also shaking. Perhaps I am too hard on Morón. We huddle in the doorway awaiting aftershocks. ...

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