A Day in the Life of Lamont
Cherry picking from the archives of the Lamont Diaries continued, the life of a storied mutt
By his pal, Nate Thayer
The Great Guru Lamont took me on a long outing to survey his domain and his people from which we just returned. As usual, there were pleasant surprises awaiting.
It seems anything that makes a noise, movement, or has a circulatory system merits the singular laser focus of Lamont, who, like all great politicians, bestows his undivided attention on his people, making them think they are the only thing that exists on the planet. For the briefest of moments, Lamont leaves them breathless and swooning, before moving on to the next voter.
After leaving the gates of our estate, Lamont took his obligatory long pee and sussed out the perimeter, for which he was rewarded with obsequious congratulations and a cookie.
On the way to the park, Lamont took a shortcut through the alley of the sometimes mean streets of Washington, D.C., the very Belly of the Beast of the Free World.
First, Lamont focused on the cockroaches which he recently discovered emerge in the urban summer heat and make for wonderful light entertainment rooting them out from the concrete crevices and batting them around.
Then he spotted a furtive fellow hunched in the shadows of the alley.
Lamont tugged and wiggled, insisting we go over and give the man a proper hello.
The man seemed hesitant. As we got closer, I saw why. He was awkwardly juggling a hypodermic needle in one hand and an elastic, thin Bunji cord in the other.
But Lamont ignored that the man, one of Lamont’s people, was a bit preoccupied, and whined and wagged his tail, stretched his snout out in a decidedly non judgmental gesture, and insisted on bestowing his stamp of affection and approval until he had won the man’s attention and heart.
The man smiled and turned to Lamont: “Aaaww, go on with your bad self!” he said.
Satisfied, Lamont trotted forward with me on his leash.
At the corner was a man standing looking across the street waiting the arrival of a smiling woman in a flowing sundress heading our way.
Lamont ignored the man and focused on the apparition of beauty cascading his way. The two met midway across the street and Lamont went to work. He glowed and glistened, smiled and swooned, leapt and demanded smooches.
“Oh you are a cutie patootie!” she cooed as she bent down to take Lamont and pull him up against her ample bosom.
By this time the light had turned green and Lamont was holding up traffic. But no horns honked. All eyes were on Lamont. Some people seemed to be taking notes.
It wasn’t clear whether the gentleman waiting on the corner for his two-timing gal was amused.
Lamont and I finally reached the park, Lamont’s home base. Although technically dedicated to Abraham Lincoln, the 16th president of the United States who freed the slaves and was America’s first mentally ill, gay president, practically it is the domain of Lamont, who both reigns and rules under his very benevolent dictatorship.
We passed the child’s playground where hushed murmurs of “Look honey, there’s Lamont!” were heard as the masses stood still while the Great Lamont wiggled by.
Lamont headed towards a circle of teenage girls sitting in a circle on the grass, apparently part of a summer Bible Study outing from a local Baptist church. They cried out in unison: “That is the cutest puppy ever!” and I unlatched the leash holding Lamont back from bestowing his smooches on His People.
Lamont bounded at full speed over to the smitten gaggle of gals and leapt through the air into the middle of the crying, nearly in tears maelstrom of teenage angst, as if he were a canine incarnation of Justin Beiber and Mahatma Gandhi.
Vigorously, from inside the circle, Lamont smooched and yelped signs of approval at each and every one of the young girls, going round and round the circle, and making sure to give extra attention to the ones with acne and extra poundage, and they responded in kind. For ten minutes.
With them all sated in tears of joy, we moved on, to the statue of Abe Lincoln in the middle of the park. It was there that Lamont met Grumpy, a floppy skinned mutt of Basset Hound descent who, after a moment of reluctant pause, was smitten with the young Lamont. And they bounded about roughhousing.
“He is awfully cute,” smiled Grumpy’s lovely young human.
“He is,” I said. “He seems to have figured out the ingredients of happiness in life.”
Lamont returned with a crab apple and dropped it at the feet of Grumpy’s lovely human.
“Lamont seems to have taken a liking to apples, “ I said. He had brought one home yesterday and then swiped another half-eaten one from the bedside table later in the night.
“I make a great sweet potato pie,” said Grumpy’s lovely human.
“I do love sweet potato pie,” I said.
And then the four of us went back to Grumpy’s place. She wasn’t fibbing. We all enjoyed her homemade sweets.
After some time, Lamont and I headed home.
Lamont turned to me, looking up at me shaking my head and said: “See, I told you if you stick with me I would take care of you!”
“Yes you did, Lamont,” I said
And Lamont, rather proud of himself, strutted his bad self the rest of the way home..