JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps by phuc Page B

were always amazed at how he allowed the pit bull to clamp those bone-crunching jaws over his wrist like that. Once most people spent a few minutes with Petey they realized he shattered all stereotypes of the breed.
    Once they hit the back patio, Petey took off running. Daryl reached down for a tennis ball that had been sewn to an old rag. He threw the ball and Petey jumped up and caught it. The dog eyed Daryl, tail wagging, backing up towards the fence. Come get me , his eyes seemed to say. Daryl laughed and lunged for Petey, who feinted to his right and ran around him. “You little snot!” Petey veered closer, on purpose it always seemed, and Daryl grabbed the rag and pulled. Petey growled and shook his head and the two of them spent the next thirty minutes playing like this. It was Petey's favorite game: the human throws the ball, the dog runs after it, gets it, and runs away with the ball. Oh, but he has to let the human get the ball to make the human feel good about himself. Once the human got the ball, though, the dog had to pretend to be big and tough and engage the human in another game—tug of war. What dog didn't enjoy a game of tug of war with a human over some object?
    As Daryl played with Petey, his mind tracked on how the pit bull came into his possession. He had obtained Petey when the dog had been only six weeks old. While performing a raid on a gang house in South Central Los Angeles, they had discovered a make-shift kennel in the backyard and a circular area of the yard that had been used for pit fighting. Three adult female dogs and one male were confiscated, along with twelve younger dogs and puppies. Most of the dogs were in bad shape with obvious wounds from fights. It had sickened Daryl and he remembered being tempted to kick holy hell out of the homeowner, a fifty-one-year-old long-time gang member who freely admitted to breeding the dogs for pit fighting. If it had been up to him, he would have forced a pit fight between the homeowner and one of his loser gang buddies—one to the death the way they forced it on these poor animals.
    Among the twelve younger pit bull dogs and puppies was a six week old quivering puppy that Daryl had fallen in love with the minute he laid eyes on the critter.
    Animal Control Officers were already on the scene doing their best to round up the animals, and Daryl had picked up the quivering puppy and looked him in the face.
    Looking at that little puppy had reminded him of one of his favorite childhood shows The Little Rascals . The dog on that show was a pit bull and its name had been Petey. This puppy looked exactly like a miniature version of the dog that he had grown up with on that childhood show. He had stroked the dog's fur and the puppy licked his fingers, making friends. Daryl had smiled at the dog. “Nobody's ever going to hurt you ever again, little guy. Never."
    He had taken Petey home with him that day, gotten him neutered, and invested in a professional dog trainer. And unlike those who breed pit bulls to fight, he had left the Petey's ears uncropped and his tail intact. He had just gotten divorced a few months before from his second wife and he felt that he needed a companion. Petey had become that companion, and as the dog grew up they had become quite close. Petey grew to be a loyal, obedient, gentle, and very intelligent animal. So intelligent, in fact, that Daryl had to spell certain words in the dog's presence lest the animal go into a frenzy if he uttered the words car or ride . Petey loved riding in the car.
    “That's it, boy. I'm beat.” Daryl held the ball up and Petey leaped around the yard, as if begging one more, just one more time. Pleeeaaassseeee !
    “No more, guy. Really, I'm tired okay?” Daryl put the saliva soaked ball in the basket he had set by the patio and opened the sliding glass door. Petey stopped leaping in the air and trotted over, content that he had still gotten a good game out of his master.
    Daryl let them back in the