“There is much to be learned from beasts.” ~ Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992
Through a radio Halloween feature, I learn
that among the more than 200 films made
on the world’s most famous vampire
was one about Zoltan, the hound
of Dracula— I haven’t seen it,
but it sounds like a potboiler:
Russian dog saves innkeeper
mistress from being bitten by a bat,
who is Dracula in disguise; furious,
hungry bat bites dog, turning it
into a vampire. Vampire dog now
turns against its owner, and the circle
of bloodlust widens in the lower
registers. But wouldn’t it have been
just a matter of time, this democratic
sort of extension of the food chain
from nobleman-monster to villager
to dog? Just as now, all the hippest
chefs are turning to blood as thickener,
organic coloring or rehydrating agent;
rediscovering the richness and depth
a little blood can bring to the palate—
slices of Spanish morcilla, French boudin noir
served up with apples; British black pudding
patted around a pickled egg, coils of pinuneg smoked
over a fire in the Philippine cordillera. Farther back,
in Book 18 of the Odyssey, a sizzling sausage
of goat’s blood and fat is given to the victor
in a fight. Leftovers are handed around:
everyone wins. So when the Russian
road construction crew in the movie
stumbles on a strange crypt and one
worker pries loose the stake
from the remains of a dog with a hole
in its heart— possibly thinking
Poor Ponchik, poor donut—
of course the demon dog comes back
to life. Of course it remembers the last
sweet-salty taste that coursed down
its throat. Of course it wants that destiny time
cannot alter; hungers for a love no blade could
disembowel, no rain of silver bullets could kill.