A pair of old racing hounds lies in wait, comparable to a catatonic stasis, within a dilapidated barn on the outskirts of an impoverished Russian village. The dogs are awaiting a meager portion of daily gruel. In the old days, when the dogs had run races of glory in the streets of Moscow, the dishes… Continue reading The Russian Corpse 9

Squeezer: Your name is guess for a reason. Guess: And what might that reason be, your highness? Squeezer: Guess? Guess: What a riot you are in your old age. You’re lucky to have not been subjected to the slaughterhouse or an oriental market in downtown Moscow. Squeezer: I am a pedigree! Guess: Pedigree’s make the… Continue reading The Russian Corpse 10

Guess: I loved chasing the geese around the park. That was my favorite thing about youth. Now I would simply be kicked and shoed away. Squeezer: Well, could be the fault of the fleas or maybe the stench. Lomov walks into the barn carrying two dishes of gruel. He plops one down in front of… Continue reading The Russian Corpse 11

She strolls over to Squeezer and strokes the matted hair of the dog, resting her hand upon his back. Natalya: You’re such a good boy. Much better than this rubbish lying next to you. Lomov: Watch it! Why do you have to speak so harshly around Guess? Natalya: What does it matter? He probably can’t… Continue reading The Russian Corpse 12

Natalya gets up and does a little dance around Squeezer while constantly repeating the word rubbish.

THIS PAGE CREATED FROM SCRATCH TO FIX PREVIOUS ART ERROR: NATALYA HATES THE WRONG DOG