To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1
As a deity, you know you’ve hit rock bottom when pets get named after you. But you know you’ve really gone magmatic when you share a fallen deity’s name with your neighbors’ pet. I wasn’t always called Coco, my name used to be Zeus…
… just like my neighbor’s dog. My parents tried to explain their way out of this embarrassment by claiming we had Greek ancestry. Something I always found really hard to believe given that our family name was Zbgyniew.
As I grew up, I started thinking about ways of escaping my accursed legacy. One way, as it presented itself to me, was to embrace the name, live up to its full grandeur, so as not to sound like a joke every time I’d introduce myself. To make it seem like my name was my destiny. Having that sort of thing as a pressure in your life can really mess up a fellow. But it quickly became obvious to me that this plan would mean a lot of work. So, it was time for plan B.
As a side note, I have to say I always felt more intrigued by stories of people not doing something. I find that people who go after their dreams and fulfill their ambitions are deserving of a certain measure of admiration, but are incredibly dull to listen to. That’s because recounting one’s achievements can ever-so-easily turn into obnoxious bragging, or even worse, into a motivational story. And who needs that? Let a man/woman sulk in peace.
In contrast, there is always such a poetic quality to someone’s whining about things they should do but probably never will get done. There is a hint of the perfectionist in procrastinators. They realize early on the make-shift nature of our world and are appalled by the low standards that we take as a given, so they choose detachment as the ultimate aesthetic protest. But I digress…
So, plan B: the dog had to go!
Of course, as it happens in annoying seen-it-before stories, Zeus the pooch was under some kind of divine protection, so as I tried to do him in, we switched bodies. I know, so painfully predictable, I face-pawed myself right after it happened.
There I was, on all fours, with the world suddenly looking ever more down on me. Naturally, it was useless chasing after formerly-canine Zeus and try to undo this whole thing because, for heaven’s sake, he was still as dumb as a dog, only now he had two free hands to compensate for his not-so-reachable-balls. So, yeah, stuck in a body and with the name I hated. Greaaat!
Now, I haven’t told you much about Zeus the dog, but as I took over his body, his residual memories ended up in my head. Zeus was a greyhound and, before you get too excited, no, it’s not all sticky sand and plush bunnies on a stick. He was one of the most sedate canine specimens to grace the face of the earth, and it seemed like it was partly due to his life philosophy, but mostly to the inordinate amount of weed he puffed away. Where’d he get his paws on it? Turns out he was a dealer for the whole neighborhood, the fiend!
Oh, but there was more…