Essay 7: Comic Writing

Don’t Touch that Dog!

Author’s Note: I think it funny to point out that when I signed on to do this discussion, I thought it would be on comics, not comedy. Next time…ASK!

You ever laugh at something you wish hadn’t about years later? Do you find yourself still laughing about it now in private, guilt settling in when you realize the one person you wish to share it with is no longer around? I have, and I do. This story goes way back when. Me. Ten years ago. My grandmother’s house in the Bronx. My cousins. The backyard. And one very big Rottweiler.

At the start there were three of us; myself, my cousin Al, and his little brother Jesus, who we called Chu. Chu was eleven and he always loved playing with things that did not belong to him. Take the dog’s bowl for example. Conan, for that was Rot’s name, was just a puppy yet he was bigger than me. He liked to play too. Only today his toy was an eleven-year old boy.

Chu teased him, kicking his doggy bowl around the yard like a ball. Conan thought he was playing…thought being the key word. I don’t know how it happened, I was talking to Al who was standing on the porch at the time but before we knew it we heard a scream. I turned, and Conan had Chu’s foot in his mouth, pulling with all the vigor of a young pup. Chu was scared. He was yelling for him to stop. The next thing I knew, Chu is holding onto the bars of the porch, hanging with one leg in the air and the other in Conan’s jaws stretched out horizontally.

The scene was like something from out of a cartoon. Chu was screaming. He was angry, but Al and I could not help but break out into a fit. The thing is, at least I tried to help. While Al, mind you his brother, was laughing his ass off on the porch, I, through fits of laughter, tried to tell Chu what to do.

“C-Chu…le…let…g-go,” I tried to say through grinning teeth. I figured that if he released the porch gate then Conan, who held onto him like a toy, would let go of his foot. Then again he could have just dragged the boy through the yard, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I was bent over laughing.

“Fuck no!” He’d scream. “Get him off! Ah! Stop! Let go!” His cries caught the attention of my other cousin, Mike, who came running out. No sooner did he see the situation when he joined us in our mirth. “STOP IT!” Chu yelled. Conan pulled harder.

Now I feel guilty looking back on it. Chu was scared and all I could do was laugh. I did try to pull the dog off his foot but that only made it harder for Chu to hold on. The three of us just continued laughing until Mike had enough sense to call my father who was in the living room. My dad laughed too, but he was adult enough to gather his wits and help Chu. Between him and Mike, who was the dog’s owner, they managed to distract Conan long enough that he let go of the foot.

Chu was crying. His face was all red from the exertion the incident put on his small body. Conan thought it was all a game. He still wanted to play with Chu but when he came close, the boy would scream and Mike had to pull him away, grinning of course. As my dad escorted Chu back inside from his ordeal, he looks back at Conan and mutters, “Stupid dog!”

That was one of my fondest memories of Chu. To be honest, all of my funniest memories are with my father’s side of the family. I could write a novel based on the numerous comical incidents, stories, and events that have transpired over the years, but this one moment stood out. Maybe it’s because I miss him. He was the brunt of many of our jokes but no one was laughing the day he was hit by that car. Nineteen years old and having yet to leave his mark on the world.



Jesus Revilla
Rest in Peace
You live on through us