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“I’m too famous to have a missing pet.” Arlington stubbed out his cigarette and crossed the room again,
looking out the window, as if certain that Boodles, his beloved Boston terrier, would be returned home any second.
“We’ll find him.” Elly Kolliner, accustomed to Arlington’s drama, reacted with cool efficiency.
Had she really ever thought being the assistant to an internationally-known artist would be fashionable? Her friends envied
her greatly not knowing how many afternoons she spent scrubbing dog vomit out of the Aubusson rugs.
“I need my Mr. Boodly-bear,” Arlington bleated. He gripped Elly’s shoulders firmly. “We simply
must find him. What is it people do in these circumstances?”
Arlington liked to act as if he were from another planet. Always, Elly, why do people use paper napkins? Why do people
eat Pop-Tarts? What do people do when the toliet clogs? At first, Elly found this eccentricity charming. Part of his persona,
she explained to her friends who were fascinated by her oddball tales. Elly, ambassador between Arlington and Planet Earth.
“I’ll call the local animal shelters. We could drive around and look for him. You could make a poster.”
“Yes. I shall make posters. Big bold posters with collages and illustrations. Oh, I knew I should have paid more
attention in drawing classes. I was always more interested in Rothko and Brice Marden. Goddamnit, even Picasso had a realist
phase. We should get a sketch artist. You know, like the police have. And a psychic. We could have her hold Boodles’
fuzzy bone and tell us where he went.” Arlington’s breathing became shallow as he spoke. His hands fell to his
belt. With the quick moves of a practiced gunslinger, he grabbed two inhalers and held breathing deeply.
“We have plenty of pictures.” It had been one of Elly’s first assignments. Arlington handing Elly a
brand-new digital camera. How does film get out? How do we get the pictures?
A heavy black archival-quality album. The title in 14 point Goudy, small caps with 16 point leading. The pictorial adventures
of Mr. Boodles. Underlined.
Mr. Boodles in a tiara.
Mr. Boodles on a satin pillow, paws draped over the edge.
Mr. Boodles on rainy day with a yellow hat pulled low over his bulbous eyes.
Birthday Boodles in a multi-colored party hat posed in front of a dog food cake.
A rather formal Mr. Boodles in an red satin opera cape with black velvet quilted cuffs.
“If Pollock ever lost a dog he would have been screwed.” Arlington muttered, taking a step back from his masterpiece.
“Unless of course, his dog’s name was Drips.”
Reward Offered. Beloved pet and muse of local artist is missing. All leads honored with payment. Return with no questions
asked.
“Don’t you think the poster is a bit large?” Arlington turned toward Elly. She could sense the inevitable
question before he said it. “How big do people make these types of things?”
“It will be hard to photocopy.” The poster dominated the wall at nearly three feet square. She never understood
how Arlington could keep such an earnest demeanor in the face of his own abject foolishness. Nevertheless, she couldn’t
help but admire the poster. Collages and texts combined in a way that was both eye-catching and poignant. “I could
take it to a printer, we could have them run off as four-color posters. It would be expensive, though.”
Arlington drew himself up to his full five feet of height. “I would never put a price on love.”
“As you wish.” Elly managed to suppress a smile. “I’ll take care of hanging them. Don’t
you worry about a thing.”
Estimated value of Missing Dog Posters: $500 each. Potential value if missing dog turns up dead and artist goes into non-productive
phase: upwards of $5000 each. Estimated potential minutes of life Mr. Boodles has remaining: 5.
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