Free The Bookie's Daughter by Heather Abraham

we tried to entice him with ripe bananas. Larry quickly became accustomed to his new surroundings, but his hilarious antics soon became more aggressive.
     
    Larry had a front row seat to the comings and goings of the hundreds of pedestrians and factory workers who strolled past the store every day. He was a bright spot for many exhausted laborers, a temporary reprieve from the daily grind. He provided a dose of cuteness in the otherwise dog-eat-dog world of making a living in Jeannette’s factories. The bus stop in front of the store provided Larry with both willing and unsuspecting spectators who began to find themselves the objects of his growing angst at being constantly on display. The “novelty” began to express his discontent. Women were his favorite targets.
     
    Larry’s favorite pastime was masturbation. Screams from women awaiting the bus signaled the onset of Larry’s most shocking acts, which began with the usual swinging from the bars or playing with his many toys and ended with Larry masturbating for an astonished and offended audience. The liquored up factory workers coming from the bar next-door cheered him on, while offended women rushed up the street looking for a police officer. Others charged into the store and berated my parents for allowing such a display. Although my father thought that everything Larry did was hilarious, my mother was becoming increasingly concerned about his unpredictable behavior. Vanessa and I took to warning her, “Mummy, Larry is playing with his hot dog again!” She would get out her handy spray bottle and shoot a stream of water at Larry, managing to break his concentration only temporarily.
     
    As if masturbating were not problem enough, Larry soon began to throw “things” at customers and gamblers, but most pointedly, at my mother. I am not sure why Larry singled her out as a target for his outrageous behavior. She was always kind to him and tried to make his life as comfortable as possible. Bonnie never supported our keeping Larry, as she thought it cruel to keep such a precocious animal in a cage. If he could not be in his natural habitat, she thought he needed to be in a zoo where he would have plenty of room to run about. Unaware that he was provoking his most ardent supporter, Larry targeted my mother at every opportunity.
     
    At first, he threw toys at Bonnie. Then food became his weapon of choice. I vividly recall a shiny, red apple bouncing off the back of my mother’s head. Eventually, Larry upped the ante. He used the most offensive of weapons: his shit. The first shit bombs appeared from the depths of silence. Larry would become uncharacteristically quiet, squatting in a contorted position with one arm behind him. His eyes would roll back in his head and a bizarre smile would flash across his face. Then, presto! He would fling a steamy shit bomb at the most convenient target.
     
    Between the masturbating and feces throwing, Larry’s stay on Clay Avenue was rapidly drawing to an end. The final straw came when a customer entered the store to find my mother in a heated, albeit one-sided, argument with the monkey. Larry had just completed a pornographic show for outraged pedestrians. Liz, a sharp dresser who always looked as if she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine, immediately took Larry’s side. She berated Bonnie for yelling as such an adorable creature and began to sweet talk Larry. The monkey reached for her through the bars. Liz approached the window display and cooed to Larry, who responded by throwing kisses at her.
     
    “See Bonnie, all he needs is a little love,” Liz admonished my mother as she threw air kisses back at Larry.
     
    My mother, rendered speechless, stood frozen in horror as she watched Larry urinate down the front of Liz’s purple wool dress. Liz became irate as the warmth of Larry’s ruse drew her attention. The tables turned, and my mother found herself protecting Larry from a furious Liz, who was determined to