Man Bytes Dog

I love it when I get letters that enclose pictures of flying saucers, Bigfoot or the body’s electrical leakage. Especially when they come from Venice Beach. Nothing ordinary ever happens on Venice Beach.

I mean, I’m sitting around praying for a column idea on a day that registers zero on the interest scale when suddenly somebody drops an envelope in my lap.

I notice the Venice postmark right away and can’t believe the Person Who Envisions All Columns has heard me so quickly. He has perceived the desperation in my psychic tone.

I open the envelope and out drops a picture of a black hand edged with glowing light.

At first I think it’s a death threat from the Black Hand Society, but the letter explains it’s a photograph of the “body’s inductive, electrical leakage.”

I almost cry with happiness.

The letter continues: “This area is called the aura. It is comprised of floating fields of negative and positive polarities. . . .”

Then it goes on to say this mystical body force can be used to calm pit bulls if you shake out all your bitter memories first.

The letter suggests I bring my dog Hoover to Venice Beach and the writer will show me how my aura works.

It is signed Rueban Bendavid and encloses his photograph. He is a small man with a scraggly beard and a gnome’s hat pulled down to his eyebrows.

Thank you, God.

I go to Venice Beach and meet Bendavid. He is sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette and drinking a Diet Coke. At his feet is a scruffy old dog named Nick.

I don’t bring Hoover, by the way, because the ocean would scare him. Clouds terrify Hoover. The sight of waves could kill him.

Bendavid is almost as scruffy as his dog. He wears jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt that says “Mr. Dirt Wants You,” a ragged imitation leather vest and the gnome hat pulled low on his forehead.

He’s suspicious at first, but then we begin talking about Aura Power and the body’s inductive electrical leakage and his eyes light up. That’s a guess. I can’t actually see his eyes under the brim of the gnome hat.

Bendavid talks in clipped sound bytes. A segment of information here. Another there. Sometimes they are related. Sometimes not.

He begins by illustrating how he uses his aura to calm dogs. He once worked as a stable hand and has read about auras. One day, as he says, he put two and two together on a grand scale. Out came Aura Power.

“You imagine ice in your hand to relieve tension,” he says. “You move the center of your being to your left palm. You bring your palm toward the dog under his eye level.”

He illustrates by bending his knees slightly and swinging his left hand slowly toward Nick like his is pitching a softball. Nick just looks at him.

Ideally, the dog will either put his cheek in your palm, touch your palm with his nose or wag his head. Right. His head. On the other hand, he may attack and rip your throat out.

The important thing is to rid yourself of every bitter memory you’ve ever had by shaking your hands hard. If you don’t, the dog you are approaching will sense your negative polarity. Then we’ve got the old Dog Bites Man story.

Bendavid was bitten by a cat recently. “I used my right palm. He didn’t like the negative emphasis. It’s different than the left hand.” He sways back and forth as he talks. “I helped a lady with her orgasm once.”

He catches me off-guard.

“What?”

“She was frigid. I touched the vertebra down her back. She never had the same problem again.”

“Well, well.”

“I’ve been celibate since 1975.”

“Oh . . . uh . . . congratulations.”

“Dogs will follow my palm.” He waves his palm in front of Nick, who has been lying down. Nick gets up with a great deal of reluctance and follows Bendavid’s aura, then sits again.

“My ambition is to try this on a bull,” Bendavid says. “Like a matador. Maybe in Portugal.”

There’s a dog next door to me named Rex that charges down his driveway when I come home, growling and slavering. The dog, not me. I growl and slaver only when I write.

I shake my hands vigorously. Bitter memories fly everywhere. Missed deadlines. Lost opportunities. Bad judgments. Then I turn my left hand to Rex, palm up, full of love, the very center of my being.

Rex misses the point and keeps coming. Fortunately, my right hand holds a 2 by 4. Rex understands and turns away.

I tuck away my being, collect my bitter memories, shake away the love and go on about my business as a newspaper columnist. Rex sits on his porch and glares.