sometimes i’m in my apartment, naked, bellowing the melody to some ludovico einaudi piece, eating a pomegranate – a typical tuesday afternoon – and i’m suddenly seized by an irrational fear that my dog is in fact a human being who has been reborn as a dog, lacking the capability of speech.  specifically, and maybe this is the odd part, a harried forty-something male investment banker.  i freeze, and can’t look her in the face for hours afterwards, until she does something intrinsically silly and doglike like fall off the couch.  when she licks her own ass, though, it gets creepy – that’s totally i-banker behavior.