There’s something strange going down

As the morning traffic stewed in a cess pot of heavily gurgling muffler excretion I leaned back and patted the dog carrier in the back seat of my Cherokee. My two loyal Chihuahuas were caged there so that they wouldn’t break free during a break at a stop light. It only served to reason that I’d be cautious of such a possibility because despite their diminutive statures they were specially trained at arterial combat, which is the art of latching on to various areas of the body where the arteries are housed and tugging until blood shoots forth like the sparks from some dastardly Chinese firework. Yes, these dogs are nothing to toy with just ask that serial rapist who came to my front door disguised as a mailman. I consider the resulting law suit par for the course and gladly shelled out the money I’d inherited from a rich radiation baron uncle. He made a mint sterilizing vegetables and medical equipment with the stuff. I thank the tiny gods that live in the crawl space below my attic that I received the inheritance while he was still alive and before the feds found he’d been disposing of the radiation in the old swimming pool behind his house. Thanks uncle Jimmy.

At any rate, I was off that morning with the pack in the back seat because I was headed to the veterinarian’s office. During a semi-brutal fight between my female Uma and her male counterpart Flea--known in some circles as the John Holmes of Chihuahua’s—(yes, when he’s aroused it looks like he’s harboring a carrot between his legs) there had been a terrible eye injury. Flea’s eye had been peeled back like the skin of a cooked onion and only by the grace of his rabbit like agility and superior healing abilities, facilitated by herbal infusions and generous applications of heavy antibiotic cream had he escaped loss of the bulbous eye.

“We’re here,” I cried as swung the wheel of the Cherokee sharply left and slid--the tires screeching like fruit bats on mescaline-- into the parking lot of the vet’s office.

The dogs went mad, as if possessed by the souls of demented rats, for they despised even the site of the vet’s building. They knew that within those walls lay the sharp probing utensils that veterinarians thrust about with reckless abandon, aiming for any orifice that might be closest and then digging as if gold encrusted the underbellies of their hides. Or at least this is what my Chihuahuas told me with their weeping eyes as I carried them through the front door. Whether or not this can be believed should be left up to your discretion.

“Hi there,” I said, as I passed in front of the window at the receptionists’ area.

There were three women on duty. Each of them youthful and nubile, untouched by the withering hands of time, possibly plucked from some Bacchus themed painting with the little horn dog sitting in the center of nudes lying listlessly about slurping wine from goat’s horns and dipping their toes in crystal clear blue waters of some ancient hot tub like pool. Yes, they were gorgeous and if it weren’t for the dogs in each of my fists I might have been sporting wood right there in the middle of the waiting room.

“Is that Flea?” a red hair receptionist asked.

It took me a moment to regain my composure as I stared into her mesmerizing green eyes which glinted like the bottoms of polished Coke bottles.

“Yes, I’m Flea,” I said.

“You’re Flea? I thought…never mind. Uh, okay,” she said, “why don’t we go to the examination room.”

“Yes, we should,” I said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“A drink?” she asked, her eyebrows rising up in terror.

“Uh, yeah, a good glass of water filters out the dander these cats and dogs throw off. I always carry a 2 liter bottle of the stuff. Unless of course my hands are full,” I said, thrusting my dogs at her.

Flea hissed and snapped, his brown teeth jutting out like the barbs of a rusted fence wire.

She smiled and I knew that I was in. In where I wasn’t quite sure but a smile is never a bad thing I reasoned.

I sat on the stainless steel bench beside the examination table and watched as the redhead exited the room. She turned quickly surprising me and caught me gendering at her exquisitely shaped ass. She smiled again. Something moved in my pants.

“The doctor will be with you in a minute,” she said and was gone.

The dogs howled and I pulled live treats from my pocket and in that way sated the ferocious duo. As the dogs devoured their snack the strangest thing went down. Beautiful woman after beautiful woman passed in front of the open door.

“What the Hell?” I said under my breath.

Each woman that passed seemed to be more lovely than the last and I had the feeling for a moment that while taking my morning vitamins I’d accidentally dipped into one of the strong medications I keep in my cabinets that I keep for the occasional escape from the bitterness of disappointment that the fucker reality always casts my way. There was however no fuzziness and my mind seemed as sharp as ever in fact these women seemed not only clear but perfectly so.

I heard giggling and laughing and the splashing of water and the Bacchus painting came rushing back to me like a pack of mule deer to a giant salt lick. It seemed that the old veterinarian had some sort of dog hospital orgy going down in his quarters. My innate curiosity would not let me be still. I had to get the bottom of the feminine glee consuming this place. If there were shenanigans going on I wanted to take part or at the very least watch and perhaps video tape. If they refused me I threaten to report them to American Kennel Club or the SPCA or some such organization. These bleeding animal heart types were suckers for the bylaws of such authority or so I hoped.

I tethered my Chihuahuas to the examination table and emptied the pockets of my camouflage shorts of all the liver treats. I would get to the bottom of this and perhaps get laid in the process. Yes, yes I understand that it was perhaps a long shot but in my world the only shots I have are generally long, the odds slim and the drinks a plenty. This combination is often a recipe for the loneliness and desperation that drives me to do the things most people would consider too bizarre.

I peaked my head out of the door and the sound of giggling and laughter continued down the hall behind a closed door. I pressed my back pressed against the wall and slowly eased my way down the long hallway, sweat pouring out from under the brim of my Titleist golf hat.

Thankfully I had my Binaca Breath Spray with me and shot several mists into my open mouth as I maneuvered stealthily forward. There was no way I was going to bust in on an orgy without minty breath. Alas, this powerful breath elixir not only covered any possible trace of halitosis but as I inhaled caused all the stale breath that had been saved up in the corners of my lungs to burst out through my nostrils and the resulting noise sounded not unlike the lusty exhalation of fornicating hippos. Yes, precisely just like the one’s I’d experienced while in Senegal, Africa some years prior whilst taking an early morning jaunt along the banks of the Gambia and smoking some of the local vegetation. I was sure that this ruckus would expose my whereabouts, that my plan to crash this possible orgy would be exposed and I would cast out with those that couldn’t pay their vet bills.

I waited in silence, waiting for one of the gorgeous lovelies to bust out from the door with a tranquilizer gun, shoot me in the ass, render me helpless, hogtie me and pull me around the building on a dog leash. Or perhaps that was just a fantasy I harbored and was letting my imagination get the best of me. At any rate I waited and no one came but the giggling and splashing started up again and intensified, as did the tension in my loins to the point of nearly causing me to faint. There was but one thing to do. I had to go in. I had to see with my own eyes the sexual escapades that I knew were taking place several feet away behind the examination room door.

My hand shaking, I took hold of the doorknob.

“Easy, old boy,” I said, fearing I would lose my nerve. “It’s now or never.”

Every muscle in my body rock hard with tension--yes, every muscle--I thrust the door open and jumped inside.

“Aha,” I cried.

There were screams and hands reaching for towels. I stood there slack jawed.

“What are you doing in here?” the veterinarian demanded.

I surveyed the scene; puppies, a wash basin, soapy water, towels. By God, they were washing puppies.

“I uh, was looking for the bathroom,” I stammered.

“Is that how you enter a bathroom? the veterinarian said.

“Yes, yes it is. I like to make sure everyone knows I’m coming.”

The female assistants took a step back, yes every gorgeous one of them. It seemed they thought me crazy or at the very least demented on some sort of hardcore drug. The veterinarian ran his hand through his salt and pepper pompadour. I saw him eyeing the telephone on the wall. He was readying to call the authorities.

“Okay, I’m going to have to be honest with you. My dog was looking ill and I was worried that no one had come to check on him. I love my Chihuahuas like children.”

“That’s so sweet,” a brunette with huge cans said.

“Please, can we hurry. The little guy looks really really bad,” I said, and tried to force out a few tears thinking of money I’d lost in that lawsuit.

There was a collective sigh from all the beautiful lasses present.

“All right come on,” the veterinarian said.

We all rushed back to the examination room where my dogs were. Evidently they’d housed all the liver treats, Flea having consumed the better part of them. He looked bloated and if my eyes weren’t deceiving me as green as a somewhat sick.

“Come here boy,” I cried.

Flea started towards me and then suddenly stopped. He opened his mouth, burped and then barfed up all the liver treats on the veterinarian’s shoes.

“He is really sick,” a voluptuous blond said.

“I told you,” I said.

The veterinarian grabbed Flea and laid him on the examination table.

“Quick get me my stethoscope stat,” he cried.

There was a flurry of gorgeous women and I sank back on the stainless steel bench with Uma in my arms.

I didn’t go to jail that day and I didn’t get to partake in an orgy with the beautiful veterinarian’s assistants but I did get the blonde’s phone number and God willing I will get a little bit more this Friday night. If there is a moral to this story it is that beautiful women should be doggedly pursued and making an ass out yourself often opens doors, and the hearts of those that are gullible enough to believe your crazy stories. So attack life with gusto, yes there will be times the authorities are called and restraining orders may be issued but there are also times when you’ll end up suckling the earlobe of a gorgeous blond in the hot tub at the Hilton. Are all those failures worth the infrequent victories you may ask? The answer lies in the smile on my face and the love in my heart. I will never let you down if crazy is what you expect.