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[hibenjibye]

Apocalypse Dog

The first red flag in my relationship with God came in 2000 when Sega released Poo-Chi, a robotic toy dog.

I was 11 and had recently become obsessed with a kid's magazine called K-Zine or Kid-Zone or K-Hole or something, which was comprised of ads for toys and clearly fake interviews with teen idols.

K-Hole: You did a great job in Titanic! Thanks got sitting down with us, Leo! What's your favourite colour?

Leo: Definitely brown! I asked the director of Titanic to give my character lots of brown clothes! I think that's a cool colour!

To this day my compulsive cover-to-cover digestion of this magazine, full of people and things I cared nothing about, remains a mystery that gives me a sense of curious unease whenever I consider it. Probably because it serves as a reminder of the ultimately transient nature of personality and the fundamental unknowability of the self. When I, a phlegmatic child who enjoyed novels about family sagas and drinking coffee with the emotionally incestuous adults in my life, pinned a free poster of Nikki Webster wearing a bubblegum pink tube top and body glitter on my bedroom wall, who was I in that moment? What invisible audience was I performing for? Who did I believe I might become via this strange action?

It is for a similar reason, I suppose, that 20 years later I still think about a competition the magazine ran which offered readers the chance to win a Poo-Chi.

I had no idea what this dog did, other than represent the spirit of the new millennium with its sleek metallic body and tense stance. As the child of Jehovah's Witnesses I entered this century with the suspicion that a long-predicted apocalypse might be fulfilled at midnight, January 1st 2000, and with every day that fiery hail did not fall from the sky that year I developed an exhilarating sense that I was living in an unpromised and unpredictable cyber-future too advanced and impressive for God himself to interrupt. Maybe this was what I saw in Poo-Chi's dead red LED eyes: a sleek defiance of our Lord's bipolar love and threats.

Either way, I knew when I saw the ad for the competition that I must win the dog. I had never wanted anything so singularly in my life, suddenly. This is odd because I had never wanted a toy from any ad before -- The closest I came was shaking my mother awake one morning a year earlier when I uncharacteristically woke up at dawn and discovered a TV show where a woman was showcasing gorgeous pieces of statement jewellery that were marked down and disappearing fast. The woman rued the fact that there weren't enough topaz necklaces for her to buy one herself and I cried into my cereal when my desperation to procure one of these treasures, which I would have kept in my bottom bureau drawer and looked at every day, was unfairly dismissed.

A similar chasm opened up in me as I wrote my submission to the magazine explaining why I deserved the dog most. I tried to funnel my absolute need for it into my words, which did not seem to convey the urgency of the situation. I had a vague sense that if I received the Poo-Chi, which surely I would, it would be my best friend and possibly learn to perform tricks that a lesser child would not know to teach it. It seemed like the kind of magic robot whose arrival might catalyse the beginning of a child's adventure in a movie, and I had been waiting my whole life for my movie to begin. I'm not sure I managed to articulate any of this in the letter.

*

This memory becomes its strangest when, on a grey Sunday morning, I interrupt my mother’s vacuuming to ask if Jehovah would be insulted if I were to ask for his assistance in winning the dog. I've always prayed, at this point, and never asked for any selfish favours so it feels very likely that my good karma is ready to be cashed in. But first I want to make sure that God won't be offended and potentially even stop me from winning the dog to teach me some sort of rude lesson. I feel so close to winning by now and I don't want to let anything fuck up my plan.

My mother says there's no harm in asking but I should make it clear in my prayer that I know I don't necessarily deserve the robot dog, I'm just asking in case God is open to making my dreams come true and was waiting for the right opportunity. She reminds me of children suffering and dying in the world and I feel a stab of compulsive grief for them but I also feel that our situations are apples and oranges.

I pay an awkward amount of attention to my posture when I pray that night, not wanting to look like an entitled slob as I kneel over my bed asking for a handout. I keep my back straight and my fingers lightly laced. I confirm that I'm just asking, no worries if not, but this wish does represent everything I've ever wanted and I will be sad for a long time if I don't get it.

I do not mention the fact that the last time I requested something via prayer it was for a drunken brawl between my parents to come to a quick end but it indeed lasted all night, rattling my heart through the wall as I lay in bed. It seemed tacky to bring up this overlooked request however I felt hopeful that God would remember it and feel guilty, and this would compound my chances of getting my wish.

*

I forgot all about the competition but received a velcro wallet in the mail months later, one of three runner-up prizes. I was elated to have won something and showed it to everyone, even though it was ugly as shit with a picture of the weird dog and his robot cat friend on the front. I used it for years.

There was no doubt in my mind that the wallet was a message from God. It was both an acknowledgement of my prayer and a rebuke of my hubris in making such a lofty request. The wallet was a spiky little joke, meant to comfort and humble me. It was haloed in an odd dissonance which felt connected to my broader feelings about the unpredictable man in the sky.

In my teens when I began to pick apart all my ties to religion and to my family's unique version of reality, I didn't consider the awkward prayer about Poo-Chi to share any throughline with the uncanny path of spiritual emancipation and disconnection I ended up on. But in retrospect all of those strange feelings swam in the same pond. The wide-eyed waiting for a punctuating sound through the wall or from the sky. The rickety hope of walking out into a still-standing world every day, with its dubious promises and nonsensical lessons.

I continue to look for easy adventures and strange friendship through electronic devices. I am still mesmerised by statement jewellery and emotionally derailed by other people's conflicts.

If this story had an ending, which it doesn't because it isn't really a story, I would imagine it to be the above two sentences appearing during end credits over a freeze frame of me smiling and giving a goofy thumbs-up.

There would be a tricky post-credit scene as everyone stepped out of the theatre, of a Poo-Chi standing on a cloud in Heaven. A sandalled God walks over and leans down to pet the little friend, whose LED eyes light up red and beam out zooming rays. God shouts once as he takes the death ray right in his solar plexus and explodes into a dozen pieces. His still-sandalled foot is dragged to a quiet corner of the clouds to be chewed. The volume of a pop-rock song playing in the background returns in full. The end.