Lonnie Hicks

Freshman - 828 Points (www.lonniehicks.com / Chicago Ill)

Gizmo's In The Slammer: My Dog The Convict - Poem by Lonnie Hicks

Had to get Gizmo out of the slammer today.

Animal control had him in the cage with the wet concrete floor and dripping water.

He had an inmate ID number, a temporary collar and they had set his bail at 60 dollars.

The city is hard up for money so they make you pay after they have kidnapped your dog in broad daylight off the city streets.

Gizmo had been held for a whole hour without food or water and I looked at him and I could see he was thinking he had had a great adventure. I expected him to jump for joy to see me, but instead he reluctantly came up to me seeming to say “oh and I was having such fun.”

Perhaps a little more time in the clink might have given him more time to think things over. But I was there in an hour to get him out so he was considering all of this just another one of his patrols of the neighbor, but this time with taxi service.

He was thinking, I am sure, that he could add the pound and all the dogs and cats in there as additions to his territory if I hadn’t showed up to spoil things. Gizmo is a pirate at heart 12 years old with two bad hips.

Shiatsu’s are known for bad hips because of in-breeding, with two baleful eyes and a determination to protect his neighbor-hood territory rights keeping the cats and younger dogs at bay and being over-all Lord of the Block.

He is also a break-out artist as well. Has to get his patrols in rain or shine. He is the black and white cruiser on the block, unlike Mugsy who considers the outside too dirty to deal with and is also filled with ugly cats. Mugsy is the Prima Donna.



Gizmo believes one day missed from patrolling is likely to result in his loss of face and if not territory, not to mention rights to the ladies in the neighborhood.



How did a short dog manage to acquire a neighbor kingdom? Here’s how: Gizmo rules because when he walks his two hind legs flail out behind him because of the hips, looking like a Crazy Legs Psycho Dog.

He is in no pain and has the courage of a lion, lunging at cats and dogs three times his size. The vets wanted 6,000 for do hip transplants but that didn’t make sense, especially since Gizmo didn’t seem to be in pain and seemed to consider crazy legs a mere inconvenience.

But he rules because he quickly realized that cats and dogs seeing him coming with his two hind legs flailing crazily behind him, made him seem like a monster dog of some kind and they all froze and then ran, not wanting to tangle with a mentally-ill short dog who looked like he could gnaw off one of their paws.

So Gizmo maintained his territory by playing crazy for all it was worth.

Unfortunately on one of his bust-outs the animal control guy also thought he was a crazy dog, rabid and netted him with a note that said he was having spasms and likely dangerous. None of this is true, of course, but Gizmo was looking back at me from behind bars apparently enjoying his image as the Al Capone the dog.

They wanted sixty dollars bail on him and a promise to get him some rabies shots, Gizmo had his shots, but they wouldn’t release him unless I consented to pay for rabies shots they administered.

A protection racket for dogs.

Gizmo, all puffed up from the attention, took the shot in his rear left cheek and drooled with quiet dignity.

I got him in the car and he headed for the window anxious to see what dog prison looked like receding in the distance.

I had the feeling he made some friends there and wouldn’t mind going back.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, October 6, 2011



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