My Dog Has An Instagram, Now What?
I’m naked again.
Trembling. Covered in sweat.
The sun is rising but I’ve been awake all night. In fact, I’ve been awake for days. Giving life to my vision…
I stumble to the kitchen. My wondrous dog Wilhelm lies in wait. Wilhelm is my best friend. My confidant. I strap on his fake beard. His baseball cap. His running shorts. His white booties with a hand-drawn Nike swoosh. I position him in the diorama — a 1:50 scale replica of Mile Marker 13, US HWY 163, Monument Valley, Utah…
…The exact location where Forrest Gump ends his legendary, coast-to-coast run in 1994 hit film, Forrest Gump.
Wilhelm sits still. He’s ready. Cameras snap. Lights flash. We got the shot! Wilhelm howls with delight. A single tear rolls down my cheek. I collect it in a jar with the others. We add the Ludwig filter and announce ourselves to the world:
@Wilhelm_The_Dog: Hi! My name is Wilhelm. I’m new here. I call this one: FURRest Gump
My dog has an Instagram, now what?
It’s seven minutes later. The phone rings. It’s the media — all of them at once!?! Reporters jostle for the scoop. “What will Wilhelm do next? Has he considered politics? Is he dating? Will he donate his fortune to charity?” I say, “No comment.” I hang up.
Wilhelm yelps and rubs his body against the door, his signal for “bathroom.” I take him downstairs, through the lobby, to the sidewalk. Outside, Wilhelm is recognized instantly. People stare. They shout, “I love you Wilhelm!” They snap pictures on their phones and clamor for his gaze. A young boy attempts to pet Wilhelm but our newly-hired bodyguard, Fabrizio, intervenes. “No touching,” he says, in a thick, Italian accent.
We walk to the corner gelato shop to celebrate our newfound successes. I order vanilla for myself and raspberry for Wilhelm. Fabrizio decides against the pistachio after tasting a sample. Our bill is $6.98 but the cashier does not accept my crinkled one dollar bills. He says, “Meeting Wilhelm was payment enough. In fact, why don’t you take the keys to my brand-new Porsche? It’s parked out back.”
Fabrizio guides us through the back door of the shop. A raucous crowd awaits us. They jostle for a glimpse of Wilhelm. Small children hold out memorabilia, hoping for an autograph. An industrious, young man sells t-shirts bearing Wilhelm’s resemblance. I note this to Mr. Bianchi, our newly-appointed attaché — a breach of trademark. We will sue post-haste.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The hum of helicopter blades grows near. I scan the horizon. A helicopter bearing Channel 5 News insignia pierces through the sky. It stops and hovers above us. My phone vibrates — a message from the Emergency Alert System. “Happening Now: Wilhelm Steps Out Of Gelato Shop.” I open the alert and am directed to a live video feed from the helicopter. I look up, then back down at my phone. In the one-second tape delay I am able to take a brief look into my own eyes.
Fabrizio drives us one block home. The helicopters follow. Wilhelm and I hop out at the curb, where a plush, red carpet awaits. We follow the carpet through the lobby and up the stairs. Inside the apartment, a team of maids polishes the wood in the foyer. I snap my finger. The maids hastily exit, as per the finger snap. In the kitchen, our full-time chef, Alfonso, has begun preparing dinner. He asks, “Asian Fusion or Italian tonight, sirs?” Wilhelm shoots me a knowing glance. “Both, you fool.” I shoot finger guns at Alfonso while I moonwalk to the study.
The phone rings in the study. It’s CNN’s Jake Tapper.
“Can you comment on the President’s claim that Wilhelm was convicted of murder in the Germanic city of Augsburg?”
“As we’ve stated many times Jake, Wilhelm does not have political aspirations…”
Before I can finish, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the Academy (of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences)!?! All of them at once!?! They hand me a small, gold statue. An award!?! For me!?! For Outstanding Original Content in the Fur-Covered Mammal category!?!? I don’t know what to say, but the Academy chants, “Speech! Speech! Speech!” They are incessant, what with their hooting and hollering.
“Well, I wouldn’t be here without my mother, and, of course, Trader Joe’s wide selection of fresh vegetables and chef-inspired, ready-to-eat meals.”
I plug Trader Joe’s because of the sponsorship deal we signed minutes earlier. Before I can finish my speech, a firework explodes outside. Wilhelm, the Academy, and I proceed to the balcony for viewing. The Academy passes out long-stemmed glasses filled to the brim with a rare 1998 Bordeaux. Wine corks join the fireworks above in a magnificent crescendo of celebration. A parachuting protester attempts to land on the balcony but Fabrizio pierces his chute with a harpoon gun, sending the man plummeting to a most-certain death. The Academy passes out cigars. Wilhelm swallows his cigar whole. I laugh. The Academy applauds. Wilhelm & I gaze into each other’s eyes. I lift him and cradle his body in my arms. The Academy toast amongst themselves and sing For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow in Latin. Wilhelm basks in the moment. I rub his belly. He vomits in my arms. From the champagne? The cigar? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because we’re together. Nothing can stop us now.
We charter a yacht and sail to the Greek island of Santorini…
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