This is a portrait of a toy poodle that my mother owned while I was growing up. His name was "Peppy." The little piece of crap hated me from the moment our eyes met, and the feeling was mutual. It never stopped its incessant yapping from the moment it arrived.

My mother loved it. It was never the trouble that I was to her. Peppy was the 'good son', and I was the evil son. Peppy got extreme special treatment. He slept in a special bed. He wore a collar encrusted with fake jewels. Mom would feed Peppy chopped steak while I was given TV dinners!

I was punished many times for teasing and doing evil to Peppy. Although I now understand that Peppy was just a dumb dog, back then, he seemed more a personification of some hellish evil ... He became a focus for my rage.

My hatred for the this little black runt grew with time. Many hours were dedicated to the development of delightful tortures which I could inflict upon Peppy while left alone with him. When mom left, I would kick the SHIT out of him until he cowered in a corner, trembling and farting in terror. Sometimes I would hog tie him and blindfold him and leave him whimpering for hours in dark, cold cupboards. One of my favorites was to place him at the end of the diving board of our swimming pool and bounce him up and down from the other end, or poke at him with a long metal rod to make him 'walk the plank'.

While we were alone, he was afraid ... but as soon as my mother would return, he would regain his courage and attack. He would bark until I thought my brain would explode. That little fucking rat stole countless hours of peace from me.

If the spirits of animals exist beyond this world, I suspect that Peppy waits somewhere for me ... Somewhere terrible where I am in no hurry to go.