CIRCUS ANIMALS

by Frank Gaimari

Step into the enchanting world of “Circus Animal,” a novel that invites you on a journey through a traveling circus’s captivating and bittersweet life. This deeply personal story, which evolved from my award-winning screenplay, is set to capture your imagination and heart.

In this vibrant setting, the intricate lives of circus animals unfold, weaving a tapestry rich with themes of freedom, enduring friendship, and unyielding resilience. Each character is crafted with depth and grace, balancing moments of heartache with glimmers of hope. “Circus Animal” is a tale designed to linger in your thoughts and stir your emotions long after turning the final page. I hope you’ll find it as enchanting and thought-provoking to read as it was for me to write.

Molly

AFTER ENDURING DAYS of solitude as a stowaway on the steamboat Natchez, the loud, shrill whistle heralded the end of my long journey. Emerging cautiously from my concealed spot behind weathered crates, I maneuvered my way through the legs of crew members and astonished passengers. As the gangway lowered, I seized the moment and dashed down the ramp.

A wave of exhilaration surged through me as my paws touched solid ground. I gazed up at the Saint Louis Cathedral, its tall spires reaching toward the sky, while the gardens of Jackson Square spread out before me. The enticing scents wafting from the nearby Market made my nose twitch and my stomach growl. After days without a meal, I knew exactly where to satisfy my hunger—the French Quarter.

Arriving on Bourbon Street was like jumping into a wild mix of sounds, lights, and excitement. The cobblestone streets buzzed with revelers, their laughter and chatter mixing with Zydeco music. Street performers entertained onlookers with impromptu acts while neon lights bathed everyone in a colorful glow. I felt alive, my tail wagging excitedly, eager to experience everything.

As I continued, the clatter of hooves caught my attention. I quickly stepped back as a horse-drawn carriage appeared, filled with humans immersed in laughter. As the carriage passed, a gasp caught in my throat.

From the crowd, a dogcatcher shrouded in darkness caught my attention. His long, greasy hair glistened under the streetlamps. Upon spotting me, he sneered and reached for his catchpole.

My instincts kicked into high gear as a sense of danger surged. With my heart pounding, I chose flight over confrontation and sprinted down the street.

The footsteps behind me sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my body. I maneuvered through the crowd, desperate to create distance between us. Yet the dogcatcher was relentless, his grasp on the pole unyielding. His heavy, labored breaths felt like a scorching flame on my tail as he drew ever closer, poised to strike at any moment. Panic washed over me in waves, engulfing me as I frantically scanned my surroundings, desperately searching for an escape from this terrifying chase.

Just then, I saw a glimmer of hope—a group of people catching Mardi Gras beads from an embellished balcony. I knew I had to make a run for it. Summoning every ounce of energy, I rushed toward them.

The dogcatcher lunged at me with a triumphant roar, but it was too late. I had made my escape by disappearing into the crowd. I saw him standing there, defeated, with his catchpole dangling lifelessly by his side.

Inhaling deeply, I dashed through the sea of legs toward a dimly lit alleyway, seeking sanctuary behind a dumpster. After a quick survey of my surroundings, relief washed over me as the dogcatcher was no longer in sight.

Sitting down, I calmed my racing heart. Yet, my peace was short-lived as a door swung open, flooding the alleyway with a bright light. Peeking cautiously from behind the dumpster, I noticed a man emerging from a restaurant. Clad in a work uniform and carrying a trash bag, his imposing figure caused me to cower, realizing he was approaching my location. Stuck in place, unable to flee, I was frozen when he confronted me.

“Don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you,” he muttered. “Are you hungry?” he continued.

Realizing he wasn’t dangerous, I responded with a joyful, anticipatory bark as his question hung in the air.

The man’s face lit up with a warm smile. Shortly after, he opened the large trash bag, which was bursting at its seams.

I watched as he began rummaging through it, his hand disappearing into its depths. After a few moments, he lifted a half-eaten sandwich.

“Look! A Muff! A muffuletta!”

His voice echoed off the alley walls as he held up the sandwich like a prize. The strange word rolled off his tongue and hung in the air, causing me to tilt my head in perplexity.

“You’ve never tasted one before?”

He expressed surprise in his tone as if he couldn’t comprehend my ignorance. In response, I shook my head, my ears flapping slightly with the motion. His surprise quickly morphed into enthusiasm as he saw an opportunity to share something he cherished.

“Well, it’s only the best-tasting sandwich in New Orleans!” he proudly declared.

Just then, a jazz band marched past the alleyway, playing an upbeat tune. Completely caught up in the groove, the man beside me launched into an impromptu performance, singing about the sandwich.

“Grab a round loaf of bread. Add ham, salami, and cheese. Top it off with olive salad, and you’ll have… a muffuletta.”

I found myself drawn into the rhythm of the music and his enchanting description of the sandwich I had yet to savor. The word “muffuletta” danced on his lips as if invoking a spell of culinary delight, and before I knew it, we were moving together, caught in the joyous embrace of song and dance. My barks joined his singing, adding a playful note to the melody. It was a moment of pure silliness, yet it lifted my spirits, casting away the shadows in my heart.

“Come on… y’all. Raise your glass of sweet tea and toast the muffuletta. From Natchitoches to Lafayette and all the way down the line, the muffuletta reigns supreme. Muff… u… letta.”

As the music dwindled and our little performance ended, the man, with a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes, offered me the remarkable gift—the muffuletta.

I eyed the sandwich with curiosity and hunger, unsure what to expect from this unfamiliar yet highly praised creation. My hesitation was brief, for the allure of the muffuletta was too compelling to resist.

With the first bite, my world transformed. The crusty exterior of the bread crunched satisfyingly under my teeth, giving way to a pillow-soft interior that welcomed the rich medley of flavors it encased. The cured meats were a revelation, their salty richness perfectly infused into every bite.

Then came the olive salad, a masterstroke of flavor that elevated the muffuletta from a mere sandwich to a work of art. Its tangy, vinegary zest cut through the richness of the meats, introducing a refreshing burst of brightness that made each bite an adventure.

As I savored the muffuletta, the man’s interest in my identification tag sparked an unexpected connection. The small, metallic disc became the bridge between two worlds. As he leaned in, the light caught the surface of the tag, making it gleam amidst the shadows.

“Molly,” he mumbled.

Hearing my name spoken filled me with indescribable joy. It was as if, in saying my name, he had acknowledged my existence. My response was instinctual, a bark that was more than just a sound—an outpouring of happiness.

“Well, enjoy your meal, little one. I have work to do,” he muttered.

His voice carried a tenderness that made my heart swell.

As he waved goodbye, I barked again, my canine way of expressing thanks and appreciation for his kindness.

Then the man turned around, his muscles straining as he heaved the hefty trash bag into the dumpster. He waved again and moved toward the restaurant. As the door closed behind him, leaving me alone, I couldn’t help but feel a newfound sense of warmth and connection.

Once a mere passageway filled with shadows and discarded things, the alleyway had transformed into a place of comfort.

***

A sudden snarl sliced through the quiet alleyway as I savored my sandwich, causing me to freeze mid-chew. My ears perked up, fear washed over me, and my body stiffened. With trepidation, I raised my gaze, only to encounter a view that sent chills coursing through me.

Standing at the alleyway’s entrance was an intimidating Rottweiler, his massive head held high and his muscular frame casting a formidable shadow. He pulled back his lips in a snarl, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth that contrasted starkly against his dark fur.

“I’ll finish that sandwich for you.”

With a deep and menacing voice, he resonated with an undercurrent of threat, making my fur stand on end. His gaze locked onto the remnants of the muffuletta, and I saw a dangerous mix of hunger and aggression reflected in his eyes.

With teeth that resembled weapons more than anything else, saliva dripped menacingly from his scowling expression. The sight made me yelp in fear, and I instinctively backed away and left the sandwich behind.

As despair consumed me, a yellow Labrador appeared out of nowhere. He blocked my path, positioning himself between me and the intimidating intruder. His protective stance acted as a shield, guarding me.

The Labrador was a striking figure. His athletic build and taller stature made him a formidable opponent of the intimidating Rottweiler. His coat, a radiant shade of golden yellow, gleamed under the dim light. He stood firm. His strength and determination were clear in his posture, signaling that he was not to be underestimated.

The ensuing clash between the two male dogs was intense. Their barks and snarls echoed through the alleyway, each sound punctuating the gravity of their struggle. The Rottweiler, imposing in stature, displayed valor in the fight. His strong jaws snapped fiercely, and his muscular frame surged forward to establish superiority. However, he quickly found himself overpowered by the Labrador, who swiftly pinned him down.

“Give up?” the Lab demanded, his voice echoing with a tone of finality that resonated through the tense air.

The defeated Rottweiler nodded in submission, acknowledging the Labrador’s victory in this battle for supremacy.

“Now, find your dinner elsewhere,” the Labrador commanded, releasing his grip on the vanquished dog. His tone was firm but devoid of cruelty, asserting his authority without unnecessary aggression.

I watched the entire spectacle in awe, my eyes wide with amazement. A yellow Labrador had defeated a Rottweiler, considered one of the most formidable breeds. The Labrador’s tail wagged excitedly as the Rottweiler retreated from the alleyway, a clear testament to his victorious spirit.

He introduced himself.

“I’m Axle!”

Though imbued with strength, his voice carried an undercurrent of warmth and friendliness, starkly contrasting the tense atmosphere that had just moments ago filled the alleyway.

Grateful for his timely intervention, I smiled and gently kissed his snout. It seemed we connected instantly, as though he could sense my loneliness. With him by my side, the fear of being alone dissipated. Filled with appreciation, I shared my sandwich with him as a gesture of thanks, sealing our newfound friendship.

Axle

VISITING THE CITY and hearing so much about the French Quarter, I felt compelled to explore it. Bourbon Street was teeming with people from all walks of life, creating a mosaic of colors and a medley of intriguing smells. The street’s festivities had a mysterious allure that drew everyone in. Molly and I found ourselves swept along by the lively crowd.

Laughter and chatter filled the air, occasionally interrupted by applause as objects fell from balconies overhead. I watched humans reach up, their faces glowing with anticipation, eager to catch these items. Molly explained the crowd was catching plastic beads, and upon focused observation, I realized that the aim was to gather as many around your neck as possible. Intrigued by the concept, we joined in the excitement. We grabbed two strings of beads, wearing them with pride, feeling like we were part of the celebration.

I had experienced nothing quite like this before. While it was undoubtedly entertaining, a part of me was eager to move on. Our ultimate destination amidst this bustling carnival of sights and sounds was Café du Monde, the world-renowned coffee shop famed for its delectable coffee and beignets.

As Molly and I distanced ourselves from Bourbon Street’s vibrant chaos, the music’s pulsating rhythm gradually faded into a distant hum. The sudden tranquility allowed us to converse without raising our voices over the cacophony of sounds.

“I’m with the traveling circus,” I mentioned.

“Are you a performer?” she asked.

I shook my head and chuckled lightly. “No, I’m just a watchdog, or better yet… a glorified babysitter.” To my surprise, Molly responded with pride and excitement.

“I’m an acrobat!” she declared. “I can do flips, somersaults, and hop on my hind legs.”

She recounted her past as a magician’s sidekick, performing at parties and social events. However, a sadness washed over her as she mentioned her previous owner. Sensing her grief, I gently prodded about her human companion.

“The big storm separated us,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The way she referred to the storm showed it was a significant event that had profoundly disrupted her life. “You mean you haven’t found your way home yet?” I asked, trying to understand her predicament.

“Well, yes…” her voice trailed off.

She left me intrigued yet puzzled. I sensed more of her story but didn’t want to push her. I gave her space and waited for her to continue.

“The storm destroyed my home,” she revealed, her words heavy with pain. “They tore it down. My owner is no longer there.”

My heart ached with compassion as I listened to her recount her tale of loss and displacement.

She continued, telling me about her time in an animal shelter, her relocation to a different city, and her subsequent adoption by an elderly woman. However, her new home’s impermanence soon became apparent when her owner’s health deteriorated, and they sent her to a care facility. Not wanting to be displaced again, Molly stowed away on the Natchez steamboat and returned to New Orleans.

Her resilience and determination made me feel compelled to offer her a home. “You know, the circus is always looking for new performers,” I suggested, hoping to bring hope into her world.

“Really?” Molly perked up, her eyes sparkling with newfound excitement at the prospect.

“You’re not getting away this time!”

We spun around in shock, our eyes landing on the menacing figure—the dogcatcher.

The man was brandishing his catchpole, his presence an unexpected and unwelcome threat. We instinctively recoiled from him. Reacting quickly, we dodged the firm grasp of his catchpole, leaping away just in time to escape its unforgiving grip.

“Run!” Molly shouted.

Without hesitation, we bolted, darting down the street with the fear of capture spurring us on. The swishing sound of the catchpole slicing through the air behind us was a terrifying reminder of our pursuer. It grew louder and more menacing with each passing second, urging us to run faster.

“He’s catching up!” I yelled, noticing Molly was lagging. My heart hammered in my chest as I made a quick decision. Bending down, I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. She yelped in surprise but quickly understood my intention. With Molly safely out of harm’s reach and a renewed sense of urgency fueling me, I mustered all my strength and sprinted faster.

I quickly turned a corner, darting into a narrow side alley to evade the dogcatcher. Discovering a flight of stairs leading to a hidden area, I gently set Molly down.

Holding our breath, we watched from our hideaway, praying the dogcatcher wouldn’t find us. Our hearts pounded with relief as he sprinted past, oblivious to our location. We allowed ourselves to breathe only when he was well out of sight, our hearts racing from the high-stakes chase.

After we regained our composure, I suggested we continue our journey to the coffee shop. Both of us were now more aware than ever of the challenges ahead.

Exiting the alley, we raced down the street, scanning for any signs of danger. A feeling of relief washed over us when we spotted the sign for Café du Monde. We had found refuge from the dogcatcher’s grasp.

***

Standing on the bustling sidewalk outside Café du Monde, I caught the attention of a busy server with a bark. He looked at us, his expression softening as he understood our plea for food. With a nod, he guided us to the back of the restaurant, away from the crowd of customers.

To our surprise, he flipped a cardboard box upside down, transforming it into a makeshift table.

“I’ll be right back with something special,” he promised, disappearing into the café.

After an eternity, he returned, holding a bowl of rich, dark chicory coffee and a plate bearing four golden-brown beignets generously dusted with powdered sugar. The sight of the treats made our mouths water in anticipation, our noses twitching at the delicious aroma wafting from the plate.

“Enjoy!”

I barked in reply, expressing my gratitude in the only way I knew how. To my surprise, his face lit up with understanding.

“You’re welcome,” he responded warmly and entered the restaurant.

The kindness of this human filled our hearts with immense joy. Looking at the beignets, I confessed, “I’ve never tasted one before.”

“They’re delicious,” Molly assured me.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I leaned in to inspect the pastry covered in a snowy blanket of powdered sugar. Drawing in a deep breath, I inadvertently inhaled some of the powder, which caused me to sneeze violently.

A cloud of white erupted from the deep-fried pastry and flew into the air.

Seeing me covered in sugar was too much for Molly, and she burst into laughter. Her merriment was contagious, and soon I joined in. Our shared amusement echoed through the alleyway. This unexpected hilarity formed an instant bond between us, a memory that would forever cement our friendship.

CIRCUS ANIMALS

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