Last month, after four years of performative devotion, Lena Dunham admitted to abandoning her beloved rescue dog, Lamby, citing the animal’s penchant for biting her white concave ass. Controversial reports quickly surfaced from Lamby’s original dog shelter, where staff members claimed that Lamby exhibited minimal signs of aggression before he was adopted by a narcissistic, oblivious hack. To find the unfortunate truth at the center of this predicament, BPoFD sent its Senior Pup Correspondent, Brucie Petaccio-Farr, to interview Lamby at his new home, a gutter downwind from the Gowanus Canal. Portions of this interview have been edited and condensed for clarity because they’re dogs.
An Interview with Lamby, The Rescue Dog that Lena Dunham Abandoned
By Brucie Petaccio-Farr
(Translated from the Scooby Doo by Carmen Petaccio)
Brucie: Why don’t you first tell us how you came to be owned by Lena Dunham.
Lamby: I lived with three different families, under three different names, before I was adopted by Ms. Dunham and Mr. Antonoff. As you can probably guess, those earlier situations weren’t ideal, and they didn’t end ideally, but nothing could prepare me for the hell I was about to enter.
Brucie: I’ve been made aware that both of your previous owners voted for Hillary in the primaries. I cannot imagine.
Lamby: That’s just the tip of the iceberg. When you’re rotting in a cell at the shelter, so forgotten you may as well not exist, there’s nothing you want more than to find a forever home, a human who will love you as unconditionally as you love them. I’d never experienced that before. When Ms. Dunham’s assistants brought me back to her penthouse, I thought I’d finally found what I wanted most. I was wrong.
Brucie: Many rescue dogs come to their owners with a history of abuse. For instance, I was thrown out of a moving car, run over by another car, and left to die on the side of a highway outside of Houston, Texas. How did the abuse you experienced with Ms. Dunham compare to the abuse you’d faced in the past?
Lamby: It was purely psychological, not physical. Very Foucaultian. I’d describe it as a carefully curated neglect, wherein she projected the image of a loving dog mother to the entire world, leaving me alone with the crushing reality of my loneliness, the total lack of the care I’d expected to receive. I was like a prop in the psychotic play that Ms. Dunham stages every second of her life, a desperate, transparent ploy to prove that she’s a compassionate, well-adjusted member of society. I can attest firsthand that she is anything but.
Brucie: Let’s talk a little about your other former owner, Mr. Antonoff. The new Bleachers album is like an out-of-tune orchestra of dog whistles. How did his parenting compare to his horrible music?
Lamby: I cannot hold Mr. Antonoff accountable for the mistakes of his partner, especially since I saw him so rarely. He has a crippling allergy to dogs, so in the few instances he was home, he was in his bedroom or studio, cheating on Ms. Dunham with various international pop stars. You cannot blame him. Her choice to adopt a dog despite his allergy is a reflection of what is clearly a bizarre and troubled sham relationship.
Brucie: Of course, but what about the new Bleachers album?
Lamby: I’ve been living inside a Bleachers album. Why would I continue to subject myself to that sexless, bloodless tripe?
Brucie: Forgive me if I’m crossing a line, but reports suggest that you may enjoy subjecting yourself to torture.
Lamby: Really? And which reports are these?
Brucie: I’m referring, specifically, to Ms. Dunham’s allegations that you bit her butt and drink your own urine.
Lamby: Let me address these two false claims separately. First, the documented biting of the butt was a misunderstanding on my part. I would never consciously bite Ms. Dunham’s behind. It was late at night, dark in the apartment, and I hadn’t been fed in three days. I wandered into the kitchen, went to the fridge, and saw what I thought were two C-Town chicken cutlets floating down a flume of turned mayonnaise. I was starving. I took a bite.
Brucie: An honest mistake.
Lamby: Exactly. And as far as the whole urinating into one’s own mouth thing goes, that was her.
Brucie: Lena Duham would urinate into your mouth?
Lamby: Certainly not! She would pee into her own mouth, then chastise me on social media for peeing in my own mouth. It was perverse, senseless, and I can only assume I’ll be spending the rest of my life in therapy trying to understand it.
Brucie: As horrified as I am of the act, I have to say it presents a perfect metaphor for Ms. Dunham’s art. I’m so sorry you were made to suffer like that, Lamby.
Lamby: I’m just thankful that it’s over. I’ve built a nice life for myself here, downwind from the Gowanus Canal. I’m growing accustomed to the taste of waterlogged condoms. I’ve formed an alliance with the local alley cats, who’ve pledged to protect me should Ms. Dunham decide that re-fostering me would benefit her brand. Believe me when I say that this is better than the alternative. I may be covered in canal slime, but I’m finally free.
Brucie Petaccio-Farr is a former shelter dog of indeterminate breed. He’d like to dedicate this interview to his dog parents, both of whom would rather die than abandon him.