Monster Dog

The movies these days are full of the “reluctant monster/hero” motif. Just this past weekend, I was treated with the rare opportunity to view one such movie, The Incredible Hulk. I found the movie strangely compelling, although I have to admit to not patronizing many movies, so my basis for comparison is, at best, lacking.

When Trinity was found on the side of the road just over two years ago, her “passenger side” front leg had clearly suffered injury. The woman who found her immediately e-mailed the rescue and dispatched photos, which were sent with the label “Monster Dog.” Trinity's ability to persevere through what had to be incredible pain and then the horrifying experience of being introduced to a pack of Miniature Pinschers both make her remarkable; a hero, even.

Notwithstanding the motif of the reluctant monster/hero a la Incredible Hulk, Hellboy, the Thing, the X-men, Trinity has no dissonance about her role in our world.
She is the unabashed lover of all. She is the quintessential dog: devoted and loyal companion, energetic and mischievious compadre, vigilant and conscientious caretaker, and unending and loving comforter.

If we had a yearbook here at MisFit Farm, Trinity would be voted most popular, not just because of her effervescent personality, but because of some unseen force that makes her tremendously attractive to other creatures.

One time I flew with a group of friends to have a “play weekend” in Chicago. We ate dinner one evening at a restaurant called Club Havana. (It was in the Lincoln Park neighborhood, circa 2001 for any Chi-towners reading this.) It was, as the name would indicate, a Cuban restaurant. Our waiter was this heavily-accented, short, bald, musty-smelling man named Jose. As attractive as that may sound, it does not even begin to capture the raw. . . appeal Jose oozed. The three women at the table (two of whom – the hard-sell variety), were practically eating out of Jose’s hand. He told us the flowers on our plates were edible. We ate them. Slightly drooling, we chomped on the sugar cane he proffered up in our Cuba Libres. We were abashed when he had to admonish us that, no, we should not eat the decorative twigs adorning our flan desert plates. The only explanation for Jose’s strange appeal: phermones.


Trinity shares Jose’s power of pheromone, which based on the reluctant monster/hero motif, even for over-adrenalized green gamma-stoked monster/heroes, seems to come with the package. Today, we celebrate two years with the lovely Trinity, our hero, companion, compadre, caretaker, comforter, and reluctant, although tolerant vixen.