Dog Training The American Male by L. A. Knight Page B

garage door and
crawled inside to rob him, only to have his arm torn off by his dog.
    “Where are you, midget?” Did
they prefer to be called midget or vertically challenged? “Answer me, or my
dog will amputate your other limbs!”
    That you, Vice?
    “Mr. President?” Jacob retrieved
the rest of the Bush dummy from behind a spare tire. One arm was gone, its head
spun around, its right ear partially chewed.
    Was it Al Qaeda?
    “No, sir. It was my dog.”
    Damn fleabag gave me a tea
bag. As the Decider I’ve decided that Nancy was right and the mongrel must go.
See to it, Jakester, then reattach my arm and swab my wood with alcohol.
    “Sorry, sir, but the dog stays.”
    That so? You might be singing
a different tune once you see what that four-legged monster did to your little
Asian dish.
    “Yoko?” Jacob stared at the
cardboard box, its flaps chewed, the container lying open on its side. Having
dragged the sex doll out onto the floor, Sam had gnawed its pliable flesh as if
it were a rawhide bone. Yoko’s face was mangled, her left eye stretched and
deformed.
    “Oh . . . Yoko.”
    You love me long time, Jacob?
    “Sorry Yo-Yo, but I’m not into
freaky zombie sex.”
    * * * *
*
     
    Ten minutes later the garage door opened,
Jacob exiting -- wheeling a trash can to the curb. Yoko’s head and upper torso
protruded from the open receptacle, the sex doll’s remains wrapped in a plastic
garbage bag so the neighbors wouldn’t see.
    Don’t do this, Jacob.
    Jacob hummed, blocking out the
shrill woman’s voice in his head.
    Just so you know, I faked
every orgasm.
    Leaving the trash can by the curb,
he returned to the house, closing the garage door behind him.
    He never saw the two ten-year-old
boys ride past the house on their bicycles.
    Sam did.
     Tail wagging, the dog attempted
to chase after them—easily ripping the stake from the ground. The German
Shepherd sprinted around the side of the house to the front sidewalk—the
trailing length of chain bouncing wildly . . . looping
around Yoko’s neck!
    Chasing after the kids, Sam dragged
the naked life-size sex doll down the street, the plastic trash bag quickly
shredding as it was hauled along the tarmac.
    * * * *
*
     
    Nancy turned off Hillsboro Boulevard,
texting her producer as she drove through the residential neighborhood. The
excitement she felt back at the studio had waned as her idea had fallen under
her own self-scrutiny. How do you know this will even work? How can I market
it to my listeners? Is it fair to Jacob? Sure, it might help his phobias, but what
if he catches on?
    Her mind occupied, she never saw
the dog running in the street, heading for her car.
    * * * *
*
     
    Jacob had been filling Sam’s water bowl
at the kitchen sink when he heard the dog barking like crazy. He glanced out
the window just in time to see the German Shepherd race out of the back yard,
trailing chain.
    Jacob hurried out the front door
as Sam sprinted down the middle of the street, dragging a familiar object—a car
turning the corner . . . approaching fast!
    “Sam!”
    * * * *
*
     
    Nancy looked up and screamed, slamming
on the breaks.
    The naked pedestrian struck her
windshield a split-second later, the impact simultaneously shattering the glass
and inflating her air bag, which bashed the startled psychologist in the face,
knocking her woozy.
    Asshole, you just killed
someone. The cops’ll know you were texting . . . your life
is over.
    Jacob ran down the street as fast
as an out-of-shape man in sandals could run. His heart nearly pushed out of his
chest as he saw the naked Yoko doll spreadeagled across the car’s shattered
windshield.
     Holy shit, your dog just
killed someone. The cops’ll know you were fucking the doll. Your life is over.
    Jacob grabbed Sam by his trailing
chain, dragging the dog around to the driver’s side of the car to check on the
driver, whose face was pinned behind the inflated air bag. “Hold on, buddy!”
Using the spike