Your Redemption: Chapter Three: Old Habits Die Hard

The girl's name was Emily Leroux. Javert originally appreciated her for the fact that her last name proved her French descent. He also originally despised her for a purely British first name, but he supposed she could escape neither of these things. Despite all this, she was thoroughly American. She wore jeans and sunglasses, enjoyed driving in her red convertible, sang loudly to music most people didn't want to here, and could sometimes be prevailed upon to join political debates, which she regarded more or less as who could yell the loudest, and she was a fine yeller.

The music wasn't bad. Often she was listening to soundtracks from movies and musicals, because this was a part of her job. She was a columnist for the magazine "Technicolor Flood," which, despite the wild name, was focused around very civilized art. It was a magazine about music, painting, writing, sculpting, and poetry, anything you could think of. It often had contests, which its readers enjoyed for the fact that it was their opportunity at stardom. Publishers adored the magazine for the same reasons.

Emily's job was to review music sent to her, and she was not a stern critic, but a fair one. She had stacks of cds pilled about the house, and these Javert, aka Cojack, sniffed with mild interest and odd fascination.

The apartment was also quite nice, because Emily made a large sum of money. It was a nice large apartment with large, wall sized windows that let in a wonderful amount of sunlight. It was spacious and open, and Javert had quite a lot of room to himself. He appreciated the place for its luxury, and for its openness. French, especially those of aristocracy descent, are used to large, open homes, and, though Javert was no noble man, he did enjoy the spaciousness of the room.

Emily spoiled her new pet as well, but he appreciated this less. He had a large, comfortable pillow with which to sleep upon should he choose, plenty of food in his dish – though he snubbed this -, and a great many toys. He lay upon the bed only because she would tell him so. He would eat only to prevent starvation. He would chew the toys only in wonder of what they tasted like. He did none of these for pleasure or for purpose, and in general was an unhappy, lazy dog.

Emily took it into her head that this must be because he was German Shepherd, and thus, a working dog. To keep him from unhappiness, she decided training him would be the best method. He watched her with mild amusement as she tried desperately to get him to understand what she was saying.

"Oh, come on Cojack! You sat! You did good! Take the treat! I've got to reinforce the habit!" His golden eyes twinkling, he'd refuse the biscuit. They smelled horrible! Then, in desperation, she asked him to sit again. He sat. What did he want of her? He'd done as she asked! Must she force feed him that slop?

Eventually she gave up. He did all that was requested of him, and wanted nothing in return. No matter how hard the trick she could think of, he performed it with ease as though he'd known them all his life.

"Sit, lay, shake, stand, stay, roll-over, go, jump, go lay, no bark, speak, count to three," nothing. Absolutely nothing shook him. She decided that he must have been a well trained run away. He decided she must be an imbecile. All the same, he treated it with ease. He did what he was told because he was told to do it. So in life, so in demi-death. Weather she knew it or not, he was Chief Inspector Javert and he never disobeyed an order. That was the plain and simple truth.

...

P.O.V

Javert

13579 SE Joshua St, New York City, New York

Present Day: 2004

She is, at best, bearable. At worst she is annoying. In between she is idiotic, repetitive, embarrassing, and possibly mad. I do not find her to be cruel in any way. As far as dogs go I lack for nothing. There is always fresh water in my dish should I require some, and in the mornings she pours wet food out of small packages into my dish. It is always cold and over salted, but she is not completely ignorant. Nay, with some time and patience, on my part, she can be trained.

Either way, I have come to the conclusion that she is my superior, for my brain alone is human. In every other respect I am a dog, pure and simple. She, in everything is human, and displays her superiority often. What choice have I? She commands, I obey. I am perfectly content with this. The requests are simply and easily accomplished.

Even so, I am bored out of my skull. Day in, day out, I lie in the sun and sleep while she sings to her infernal music and dances on her balcony with a view of the city below her. This I do appreciate though. I may at least be on watch. None shall escape the watchful, vengeful eye of Javert! Ha ha! She types on this thing which she calls a compusomethingorantoher, and is, in general, a happy soul. I am not.

Well, that is not entirely fair. There is one source of pleasure. When she must ride her red monster to do errands, she takes me along, and I find this to be quite enjoyable. Yes, the day is not always that bad. I suppose things could be worse. I'm not sure exactly how, but they could. I could be Shnookie instead of Cojack. Yes, things could be much, much worse.

She insists on calling me by that infernal name. Cojack. And such a name! Who ever thought it up should be damned! Cojack, of all the things!

Then there are her walks. A strip of nylon with a buckle hooks up to the red color she has bought me, and we walk around the streets, through the park, wherever she chooses. These moments are not so unenjoyable in the whole. They are filled with peaceful serenity and large amounts of quite. I please my superior, I guess that is enough.

Currently, she is attempting to entertain me. A plain, ordinary red rubber ball has caught her attention, and she is waving it under my nose saying "Come on Cojack. Want the ball? Do you want the ball? Huh? Huh?" No. Not particularly. Tossing it, it glides smoothly over the carpet until it hits the leg of a table, and there it sits. And sits.

What did you do that for? You just had it. Oh what simple minds humans have developed in these one hundred and fifty years. I guess that saying about one thousand years is a day to God is correct. In that sense I was dead only a few hours, not even that. Where does the time go?

We both do not move. She's the one who stupidly threw it. I'm not cleaning up after her!

"Come on Cojack! Get the ball boy!"

Oh fine. Grumbling, I get up, walk over, and with my jaws, pick up the red orb. It tastes horrible! Yuck! Dropping it at her feet, I lie down, and look up and her with my golden eyes. Is my torment done for the day, or must it continue? Sighing, she pats my head, affection I neither want nor expect, and gets up, going to her desk to continue typing since I do not provide any source of entertainment for her. So be it. I disappoint her, and she does the same for me. In that respect, we are equal. But that and that alone, unite us. Let her pour out affection for me, I shall do nothing of the kind.

I suppose I should try a little harder. I'm supposed to learn to love my fellow man in the masquerade. What a joke. Well, I don't suppose it is my fellow man anymore. My fellow breathing, thinking, creatures under heaven. There. That'll do it.

To Be Continued.....