The Animal Hotel

I was a down and out dog, it was back in the days of the depression, when everyone was out of work and there were plenty of stray dogs wandering the streets. I had bummed about with a hobo called George, riding the box cars, but he’d gone off to hobo heaven a long time ago and I was on my own, living out of trash cans or off of the kindness of strangers but then, suddenly, as I was walking along the street, one cold and snowy December morning, I heard some of that hot jazz music, like they used to play it in the old days and, up ahead, I saw a fancy building with a flashing neon sign above it which said, “The Animal Hotel”.

“Wowzer”, I thought, “A hotel just for animals? It can’t be”.

But then I went into the lobby of this place and I saw animals and birds everywhere but they were all dressed up like humans and not just any humans but the rich, glamorous kind like you only get in them Hollywood pictures. There were pussycats dressed up like Greta Garbo in fancy, glittering dresses and lions and hippos and other types in pinstripe suits.

“Yes sir?”, said a big pink Flamingo behind the reception desk, “Would you like to book a room?”.

“Uhh”, I said, still a little bedazzled by all the opulence round about me, “I don’t think I’m rich enough to stay at a fancy place like this. But maybe I could get a job here, if you need an extra
bellboy”.

“Ahh, sir!”, sighed the Flamingo, his eyes full of a rapturous enthusiasm, “You’ve come to the right place. There’s no better place on Earth for an animal to work than The Animal Hotel”.

And then, something even stranger happened. The flamingo stepped out from behind his reception desk, dressed in white tie and tails then, swiping a cane from somewhere and slapping a top hat upon his head at a jaunty angle, he started to do a little dance and, as he danced, the large crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling of the lobby started to swirl and glow as if it was a whirling galaxy and, suddenly, I was in a big hotel ballroom full of dancing animals, all elegantly attired; a big swing band was playing and, standing behind a microphone at the centre of a spot-lit stage, the flamingo was crooning this song.

“If you’re blue
and feeling low,
there’s a new
place you can go
where life’s just swell,
that’s The Animal Hotel.

Dapper Penguins
all go there;
Zebras who
are debonaire
waltz with gazelles
at The Animal Hotel.

Even Hippo’s trip the light fandango
or elegant elephants who tango
with Orangutangs, so

If you’ve got
two legs or four,
you can dance
around the floor;
snakes shake aswell
at The Animal Hotel.

Dolphins dance
with porpoises,
terrapins and
tortoises
with sparkling shells
love The Animal Hotel.

You can dance with toucans, beak to beak
or with Chickens who are oh so chic,
c’est fantastique.

So, if you’ve just
escaped the zoo
or you’ve nothing
else to do
you’re always wel-
come at The Animal Hotel.

It was truly amazing, almost like an animal heaven, I thought but then, suddenly, I heard
a different voice coming from somewhere nearby, a little girls voice.

“Oh that poor little dog”, said the girl, “It must be frozen to death, lying out on a snowy sidewalk like that. I’ve simply got to take it home”.

“Now, Jemima”, said another voice, one of a stuck up old lady, “You know what your mother thinks of you bringing home strays. You have so many pets at home”.

“Hush nanny”, said the little girl angrily, “How can you be so heartless about a poor little defenceless animal. We shall take him home this instant and give him a warm bed and call up Mr Pettigrew, the veterinarian to see to him. That poor dog looks like he’s sick with something”.

“Very true and it might be contagious”, remarked the older voice.

That’s when a little rich girl, from Park Avenue no less, picked me up off of the street and took me home to live with her and her menagerie of pets and I realized then that the strange Animal Hotel hadn’t been real at all. I must have just passed out from the cold and been delirious or something but, anyway, now I live with Jemima Jane in a big warm house and, though it’s not The Animal Hotel, it certainly beats sleeping on the street.