Dog Training The American Male (31 page)

“Get me one just like hers,”
Helen said.

“Two dive watches it is.”

“When do you think they’ll be
ready?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t know, I never designed a
watch with a shocker before. A
faggala
once paid me to rig a spiked neck
ring for his gerbil. Is your boyfriend a
faggala
?”

“No. Look, is there any way we
could get the watches by Thursday? I have an important seminar that I’d like to
bring mine to as show-and-tell. It could lead to a lot more business for you.”

“What a blessing,” the Israeli
man said, the sarcasm dripping. “Okay, Wednesday it is. But you have to pay for
the watches now.”

Nancy reached for her purse, only
Helen stopped her. “This one’s on Vincent.” She handed the manager a credit
card.

He glanced at the name. “You’re a
doctor?”

“It’s my husband’s card.”

“Your husband’s a doctor and he
can’t tell time? No offense, but I hope he’s not the same
schmendrik
scheduled
to remove my prostate next week.”

RUBY
TUESDAY

Jacob was en
route to his second service call of the day when his iPhone reverberated in his
shirt pocket. “Ruby, I can’t talk now.”

“Then just listen. I spoke to the
booking agent who handles the
Improv
at City Place. If she likes you, she
said she’ll commit to two Tuesday nights a month beginning next week.”

“Wow. That’s excellent.”

“She wants to see your act right
away; did you bring the Bush dummy with you like I advised you to do last
week?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. I’m going to text you the
address.”

“No need, I know where the
Improv
is.”

“The tryout’s not at the
Improv
,
it’s at a private home in Lake Worth. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“An hour? Ruby, I’m en route to a
service call.”

“That’s a job, this is your
career. See you in an hour.”

* * * *
*

Maybe it was
the positive vibes coming
from his meeting with Zev, but Jacob felt like his luck was improving -- the
private home located in a gated community less than three miles from Jacob’s
second service call. Having fixed the client’s computer in record time, he
arrived only a few minutes late.

The driveway and adjacent curbs were
lined with vehicles. Locating a parking spot, he gargled the remains of his
bottled water to lubricate his throat, then grabbed the case with the Bush
dummy and hustled up the driveway.

At least I’ll be performing to
a real audience this time.
He rang the bell.

The door opened, revealing Ruby
Kleinhenz—who was wearing a squirrel outfit—her long gray wig adorned with cute
squirrel ears, her arms and legs in furry gray boots, sleeves, and paws. What was
not concealed was her bare mid-section and buttocks, the revealing gray-thonged
undergarment quite sexy.

Jacob stared at her, baffled and
strangely aroused. “Ruby?”

“You’re late. Hurry up; we need
to get you dressed.”

“What are you talking about? What
is all this?”

She dragged him inside where he
caught a glimpse down the hall of a dozen guests—all wearing furry animal
costumes.

“It’s a furry party,” Ruby
explained, dragging him inside a guest bedroom. “We need to get you on stage
before the furry festivities begin.”

“What the heck is a furry?”

She pushed him down onto the bed,
tearing off his shoes and socks. “Furries are people who dress up like
anthropomorphic animals. It’s part fetish, part hidden persona. They’re quite a
creative bunch—just go with the flow. And they like to throw parties, so take
this seriously.” She unbuckled his belt, pulling off his dress pants.

“Hey!”

From an open closet she removed a
brown and white puppy suit hanging on a hook. “Put this on.”

Jacob slid his legs into the
suit. “Wow, it’s soft inside.”

“You need a cute furry name.”

“Rock-a-poochie.”

Ruby smiled. “Where did that come
from?”

“It was my favorite stuffed
animal when I was growing up. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one; I’m just
dressing like this to help you get the gig.”

“Come on, you need a name. How
about Nutcracker Jones.”

“Fine. Now stick your head on,
grab Bush, and kick some furry ass.”

* * * *
*

There were fifteen
of them, seated
around the living room and lying in colorful clusters on the floor. Most were
in full costume (fur-suitors), a few of the more provocative entries revealing
thonged underwear or jock straps. There were tigers and a sexy Siamese cat, a
bear named Snuffy, a red fox and his lamb, a pink pony, a black and white cow
(complete with udder), a purple beaver, and an assortment of dogs—each furry evoking
the noises of their particular species.

Men and women, gays and straights . . . 
who
could tell?
All Jacob knew is that it was his most receptive audience ever.

Feeling giddy, he decided to end
with an animal joke. “Mr. President, what’s the most frightening experience you
ever faced? Was it 9/11? The shock and awe of the Iraqi invasion?”

“There were two experiences that
stand out, Rock-a-poochie. The first was when I choked on that damn pretzel.
Saw my life flash before my eyes . . . frightening. But the
scariest experience had to be when I was lost in the woods back when I was
governor of Texas.”

“What happened?”

“Gave a speech on illegal
immigrants, got lost on the drive back to the mansion and ran out of gas. Had
to walk. Figured I’d take a shortcut and ended up in the woods. I was lost for
three days—hungry . . . exhausted. In the middle of a dark
and stormy night I came upon a farmhouse. I knocked on the door and a farmer
and his wife answered. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘I’ve been lost in the woods for days.
I haven’t rested. I haven’t eaten. If I could just rest in your barn for the
night . . .’

“The farmer said, ‘Nonsense.
We’re good Christians; you’ll sleep in our guest room tonight.’ Well, they took
me in, fed me, and then I fell asleep in their guest room. When I woke up the
next morning, the farmer’s wife cooked me a great breakfast. Good people. Solid
Republicans.”

“You must have been very
grateful. How did you thank them? Money? Political favors?”

“Better. See, a lot of people
don’t know this about me, Rock-a-poochie, but I can talk to animals, and they
talk to me. Just like God.”

The furries went crazy.

“See that? Anyway, I told the
farmer and his wife about my gift, and then I went outside to talk to the
animals—you know, to get the inside scoop. First I spoke with the horse . . .
” The woman in the pink pony outfit applauded. “. . . then I had a few words
with the cow. ” The man in the cow suit stood and bowed. “Last, I spoke with
the sheep. ” The woman in the lamb furry high-fived her boyfriend, the fox.
“When I was done I came back inside to deliver the news.

“‘Folks,’ I said, ‘I spoke to
your animals . . . there’s good news and bad news. I spoke
to the horse, and the horse really likes you, only you recently switched from a
round bit to a square bit and its hurting his gums, so you need to switch
back.’ The farmer looked at me, amazed.

“‘Next, I spoke to your cow. The
cow likes you, too, but she needs to be milked twice a day, not once.’

“‘Amazing,’ the farmer said.

“‘Now, I spoke with the sheep . . .

 “’-- hey,
those sheep are
liars!’”

The group burst into laughter and
baaing
sounds, clapping with their fur-covered paws.

Jacob bowed, the Bush dummy waved
good-bye, and then he hurried off to change in the guest bedroom.

 Ruby was waiting in her squirrel
outfit, her thong undergarment gone. She slammed the door behind him, locking
the door.

“Ruby, wait—”

“I’m tired of waiting. I want to
feel your furry groin pushing up inside me.”

“Really? This costume has a fly?”

“Let me show you.” She reached
for his dog suit.

“Ruby, I can’t.”

“Why not? Don’t you find me
attractive?”

“I do, but I have a serious
girlfriend.”

“You’re not listening. I don’t
want to have sex with Jacob, I want to do it doggy-style with Rock-a-poochie.”

“Oh. I guess that’s okay.”

She reached for his furry groin.
Located the velcro flap . . .

—only to be interrupted by a
knock on the bedroom door. “Ruby, you need to move your car, the Mayor can’t
get out.”

“Move it for me, I’m busy!”

“Where’s your keys?”

“Find my purse . . . never
mind, I hid it. Just wait a second, I’ll be right out.” She located the thonged
undergarment and snapped it around her waist and buttocks, then turned back to Jacob.
“Stay.” Kneeling to his groin, she reached beneath the bed, gathered up his
black dress pants, socks and shoes, then exited the bedroom.

“Jesus, Jakester, what the
hell are you doing?”

Jacob turned to face the Bush
dummy, which was leaning back against a pillow. “It’s okay, sir. Rock-a-poochie
will give her a quickie, and then we can be on our way.”

“Shit-for-brains, there is no
Rock-a-poochie, there’s just you and your hard-on. Now make like a dog and flee
before she comes back and squirrel-fucks you to death.”

Suddenly in a full-blown panic, Jacob
stuffed the Bush dummy in its case and opened the door—only to see Ruby
hurrying back through the crowded hallway.

He shut the door and locked it.

Ruby tried the knob.
“Rock-a-poochie, open the door; it’s Nutcracker Jones, come to lick your nuts.”

“Ruby, it’s me . . . Jacob.
I have to get back to work. Can I please have my pants?”

“Not until you handle our
unfinished business. Now open the door or I’ll claw my way in.”

He backed away. Searched the
room. Hearing her work the lock, Jacob unlocked and opened the window. He grabbed
the Bush dummy – only to lose his balance in the fur shoes and fall out the
open first floor window onto a hedge, taking the screen with him.

Gathering himself, still dressed
in full-costume, he hurried to the company van—only to realize the keys were in
his pants. “Shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . wait—there’s
a spare key in the glove box!”

He tried the doors—locked.

Contemplating the passenger
window, he punched it—his furry paw offering nothing more than a glancing blow.
Looking around, he located a painted-white round curb stone.

“Mr. President?”

“Smash it, Fido! You can fix
the window a lot easier than you can fix this with Nancy.”

Gripping the rock, he heaved it
at the window—shattering it and setting off the alarm.

“Oh, hell.” He reached inside to
unlock the passenger door as a dozen costumed figures ventured out the front of
the house to check on their vehicles—scurrying back inside as a police car
accelerated down the street, screeching to a halt behind the van.

Two armed cops leaped out of the
squad car, aiming their weapons.

“Freeze, fur ball!”

“Paws in the air!”

“Don’t shoot! It’s my vehicle; I
locked my keys in the glove box.”

“Let’s see a license and
registration.”

“The registration’s in the glove
box with the keys. My license is in my wallet, which is in my pants, which is
in that house. The squirrel has it and won’t give it back unless I fuck her.”

The two cops looked at one
another and laughed. “This is better than the guy we arrested last month for
murdering his Yoko Ono sex doll.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Jacob?” One of the cops pulled
his dog head off, revealing the familiar sweat-laced bearded face.

“Son, I don’t know whether to
arrest you or party with you.”

“Please guys, can you just get my
wallet and clothes back from the squirrel.”

They turned as Ruby approached.
She had dressed into her street clothes and was carrying his clothing. “Jacob,
you bad dog, you left this inside.

She handed him his stuff, kissed
him on the lips, then climbed inside a black Porsche 911 parked across the
street and drove away.