Inside Their Homes

something i remember

When you go into someone from another culture’s house, get ready to remember how it smells forever.

One day I had been up the street playing a little game I called “how mad can a dog get?” By creatively combining a fence, a dog, a stick, and a limitless spring of curiosity, you too may play “how mad can a dog get?”

The dog got mad enough to chew through the fence. I ran away from the dog but tripped. The dog seemed to smile at my screams as he leaped towards me. The dog bit through my shoe, and sank his teeth into one of my favorite toes.

But then a boy who looked as Russian as a gulag ran up. He swung a samovar of tea at the dog, knocking it unconscious.

The only problem was that then I had to go into the boy’s Russian house, hobble in with his help. And it smelled like cabbage. And I don’t know if gruel has a smell, but I think the house smelled like gruel too. I had to sit there until my wife could come pick me up.