Rip, an inarticulate dog with a namesake derivative of more.
Rip arrives as a pup, large, abounding with energy though somewhat
clumsy in his gait. But Rip is no matter of fact bowser--the type that
woofs approvingly at your presence then is content to carry himself off
to a corner and deliver up his bulk with an unrelieved sigh.
Nevertheless, one does suspect his nose is wet (or as shiny) as a
washcloth but such familiarities are not extended to strange dogs.
Rip's progress in his new home is eventful. Early in his stay, he
gleefully corners a porcupine and gets a face full of quills for
violating that one inescapable fact accorded to all life on this
planet; introductions are always in order in untried situations. One
must proceed with due caution through proper channels or suspicion will
ensue. Rip nurses a bandaged nose, sees the inside of a vet's garage
(replete with a scourge of animals more reminiscent of a concentration
camp than an infirmary) is duly horrified, then droops off to a needle.
While recovering, a kitten perches on his upper abdomen and goes to
sleep. A thoughtful child covers Rip with an old rug. Rip's tongue
nearly flattens the mat as it lolls from his mouth. The edge of his jaw
is ringed with a black, tarry substance that grows more viscous the
longer Rip is under sedation. Rip's education proceeds apace.
By a queer turn of events, big Rip was to become associated with a
number of incontestable oddities, each sufficient to besmirch his name.
Firstly, Rip's very name popped up with annoying frequency. How, the
family queried, had the name "Rip," been chosen anyway? Of this, no one
seemed certain. The father remembered some vacation talk when
references were being made to a rip roaring time and that, perhaps, a
pup would soon be in the offing. Apart from this, Rip's name and how
they had deigned to associate that foppish hound with "Rip," remained a
mystery. The children in their homework, moreover, were increasingly
being made aware of the times "Rip," seemed to get in the semantics of
the language, English orthography and even the warp and woof of history
itself. Certainly, Rip or someone like him, had been outstanding.
Rip Van Winkle's first disclosure caused one such stir. One child
particularly pressed for explanations. Had this other Rip been
doggishly inclined? Did Rumpelstiltskin have a brother named Rip? No,
repeated the mother unless the child's inference was to Rip's great
doggish capacity for sleep or Rumpelstiltskin's spinning or spilling of
hair or food. A second child, not meaning to be overly precocious,
similarly unearthed a red herring. Rip Taylor, the comedian, had Rip's
name. Was he, too, er . . . like Rip? The mother smiled. Only in his
buffoonery, but she, again, was unsure why either Rip had been so named.
Some days later, the children heard one of the older boys in public
school boasting of being "ripped," the weekend before. The younger
child, wary of being ridiculed but curious as to this new utterance of
the family pet's name, pressed for some explanation. Utter derision.
The child shame-facedly brought the problem home. The mother, not
trained in the lore of schoolyard vernacular, thought the boy in
question had escaped a whipping for tearing something and was boasting
of his prowess in side-stepping authority. The father thought not. He
gently told the child that the wine the parents were enjoying could be,
well, "abused." One child immediately thought abused was a reference to
abusing one's body through self-exploration or playing doctor but the
father clarified that matter. A touchy exchange followed over how
something pleasurable caused harm. The mother retreated into a
homily--"all things in moderation," and told the children they would
understand as they grew older. The elder son persisted, however, in
questioning how something bad, if included under the "all," as stated,
could be either moderate or good depending on the circumstances. He
further demanded what reception the schoolyard braggart would have
given such sagacious counsel.
Events were kept on slow boil over the following week. It began to
appear as if the issue was becoming only remotely curious. Rip still
dozed before the fire and wagged a buffoonish tail in servile
recognition. Then one day, on researching a project, the son happened
upon the term rip-tide. Further inquiries followed. The hound, of
course, had not the remotest connection with ocean currents. Yet the
origin of his nickname was as puzzling as ever. Ripcords and ripoffs
deepened the controversy. The rippling effects of wind on sand, too,
had to be dismissed out of hand as a key to Rip's misnomer. Strange,
too, that no one thought to question the nickname Sandy as a touchstone
for unraveling Rip's dilemma.
Perplexity next turned to one Rin Tin Tin. He, too, had a nonsensical
name but his sanity and reputation escaped unscathed, perhaps for no
other reason than the sonorous incantation of his vowels. To be called
Rip, it seemed, was nakedly plebian--a type of proletarian churl of the
canine underworld. Besides, substituting Rip for Rin seemed too openly
imitative and it didn't begin to solve what prompted the naming of the
family pet. It began to look as if all coupling of objects and titles
was, by its nature, inexplicable.
The father then proceeded to bring a certain sophistication to the
broadening quandary. People, he ascertained, grew towards their names.
Positive, intriguing names were an asset. Awkward, embarrassing ones,
moreover, were definite obstacles to progression in life. Did not Jack
the Ripper have infamy forever etched within his name? Maybe none ever
took Doctor Cream (alias the Ripper) seriously. And whose idea was it
to substitute R.I.P. on tombstones? But then a certain Ripley made a
name for himself by documenting the unusual so Rip wasn't the only one
that lived in a dog eat dog world. However, the evidence was not in as
to whether a dog could labour under a name's handicap.
Then one afternoon, while engaging in the bravado of chasing cars and
attempting to bite their hubcaps, Rip miscued and ran headlong under
the wheels. Rip's entire frame rippled with the impact of the
collision. Thereafter, Rip indeed became an oddity for more reasons
than his name. Some say he became psychotic, if indeed dogs are capable
of such things. Barking at imaginary postmen, baying like a banshee at
cars, baring his teeth at passersby, word travelled about this
insufferable dog. The father, skilled in avoiding unpleasantness, had
Rip put to sleep. The children seemed to understand.
And of Rip? He went to his end as uncomprehendingly as he had sat
through the entire deliberation on his title and existence.