My Pet Slave

From the diary of a tourist.
  February 11, 2005

Monday, March 3.

Our vacation is almost over.  The heat is really something else.  I think third-world travel is fun but overrated.  Staying at a hotel in the capital for the last leg of our trip.  We went to the market today with Flo and discovered the pet section.  They had puppies, kittens, some weird fuzzy local animals—and people, kids and adults.  We asked our guide; apparently they’re being sold into indentured servitude.  Flo started cooing: “Ooh, I want a little slave, please, please, please.”  I didn’t want the bother at first but she started pouting, which means no sex tonight.  So I had to fork over forty million local schillings.  Have no idea how much it is in real money; the currency in this country is all screwed up because of inflation.  If I spent over fifteen dollars, I’ve probably been had.  I have yet to see anything here that costs more than fifteen bucks.  The rental car we drive is ten.  Our hotel room is five.  I could probably have the hotel manager’s wife for three.  If she’d had a good bath, perhaps I would.

Flo picked a cute-looking kid, I must admit: he looks about five, has spindly little legs and huge moist loving eyes.  I thought there was something wrong with his sense of balance at first because he kept staggering and stumbling into things but our guide told us to feed him; we did and the stumbling went away.  He’s sleeping on the carpet next to the closet right now.  Tomorrow I’ll see if I can teach him tricks.

Tuesday, March 4.

I discovered I can’t teach the slave anything because he doesn’t speak English.  I’m disappointed.  Now I have to teach him to respond to simple words and gestures.  This will require patience but the value of good training in a pet is hard to overstate.  The kid has become very attached to us; he follows Flo and me everywhere and gets very excited when we feed him.  He even tried giving Flo a hug this morning.  We haven’t disinfected him yet, so she made him stop by telling him to go fetch a piece of candy.  It was all quite adorable.

Just found out that there might be a small problem getting him out of this country, or, more precisely, getting him into ours.  I called the embassy and was told he’ll need some shots and a visa.  I can pay the vet for the shots, but a category 2 slave visa takes up to two weeks to process.  Our flight back is in four days.  What to do?

The consular worker said I could pay extra fees and apply for expedited processing.  I’m asking the concierge to take care of it; I’ll just pay the money.  If he charges me more than fifteen bucks, I’ve probably been had.

Thursday, March 6.

The visa and vaccinations are out of the way but the kid fell sick today.  I told Flo to stop feeding him every five minutes but she couldn’t resist it: he looks so cute went he begs.  I must admit I might have contributed to the problem by trying to teach him to stay while balancing morsels on his nose.  He just didn’t get it and kept eating the food right away.  This reminded me once more of something I became aware of in this country, namely the line that separates civilized people from savages.  Unlike savages, we can control our urges for the sake of the future.  I’ve had to forgo plenty of gratification in the past to be able to obtain it readily now.  This is an imporant lesson for my slave to learn.  We’ll try our little game again when we gets better.

I hope he is better in time for our flight home tomorrow morning.

Saturday, March 8.

Jesus Christ on a stick!  We’ve had a flight from hell!  Flo is all pissed off; definitely no sex tonight.  It’s the damn slave kid’s fault.  He kept puking and crying non-stop through the fourteen hours on the plane and refused to stay in the animal crate we bought (at considerable expense, by local standards) especially for him.  What a little shithead!  I gave him a good whipping when we finally made it home and in revenge, he defecated on our Bokhara rug.  I’m keeping him bound and gagged in the closet for now.  I told Flo it was a bad idea from the start but she loves to pick up exotic pets although she has no idea how to care for them.  I’ve learned to be wary of her little darlings when that piranha bit my member.  (I put it in the blender to get even.  (The fish, not the member.))  Anyway, we’ll have to figure something out with the kid.

Sunday, March 9.

No sleep last night: the kid kept howling in the closet.  I’m at the end of my rope.  Tried calling the zoo to see if they’ll take him but they are closed on Sundays.  Tried flushing the kid down the toilet.  He’s too big.  I have flooding in my bathroom now.  Flo left early: said she was going shopping to calm her nerves and wouldn’t be back until late.  Now I’m all alone, and this pest keeps screaming.  Maybe I should tranquilize him.

Monday, March 10.

Another sleepless night but I finally got through to the zoo.  They said they’d send over an “extraction” team this afternoon.  Hooray!  A colleague at work told me after hearing my story that it was a good thing I didn’t flush the kid down the toilet.  There are rumors going around about other pet slaves that got into the sewer system.  Now they have grown to enormous size and lurk underground, feeding on hapless metro workers and hobos.  Who knows, perhaps I did everybody a service by keeping a cool head.

Tuesday, March 11.

Flo suggests Bhutan for our next trip.  It’s the hip place to go right now.  I told her I’d love to, but deep down, I have bad misgivings.

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