BEWARE OF FLIGHT ATTENDANT
Cactus Moloney
Contents
Dedication
The killings already happened~
A DOG IS A MAN’S BEST FRIEND
1. Rescue Dog
2. Cindy Stiles
3. Buster
AS HAPPY AS A DOG WITH TWO TAILS
4. Carmen Fuentes
5. Betsy Love
GOING TO THE DOGS
6. Derek Beeman
7. Aunt June
8. Margot Melton
9. Buster
YOU LUCKY DOG
10. Barberella Johnson
11. Dee Winn
12. Carmen Fuentes
A BARKING DOG SELDOM BITES
13. Ezra Barkley
14. Senator Mike Young
15. Nick O’toole
CAN’T TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS
16. Aunt June
17. Buster
18. Stewart Buckeye
19. Max Martin
20. Maxine Martin
A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
21. Buster
22. Betsy Love
23. Stewart Buckeye
24. Betsy Love
BITE YOUR HAND OFF
25. Maxine Martin
26. Carmen Fuentes
27. Derek Beeman
ALL DOGS DON’T GO TO HEAVEN
28. Nick O’toole
29. Margot Melton
30. Ezra Barkley
31. Senator Mike Young
32. Betsy Love
SICK AS A DOG
33. Max Martin
34. Carmen Fuentes
35. Darnell Barkley
36. Stacy Pettington
THE MUTT’S NUTS
37. Buster
38. Ezra Barkley
39. Maxine Martin
40. Ezra Barkley
41. Senator Mike Young
FRIENDLIEST DOG IN THE WORLD
42. Barberella Johnson
43. Dee Winn
44. Joker
About the Author
This book is dedicated, with much love, to my clever mama.
Winter Canyon Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Cactus Moloney
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded or otherwise), except for short quotes for review purposes only, without prior written permission form Winter Canyon Publishing, the copyright owner of the book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is coincidental.
Edited by Manny Frishberg
Cover design by Evan Cakamurenssen
Published in the United States
Created with Vellum
The killings already happened~
A DOG IS A MAN’S BEST FRIEND
1 Rescue Dog
A car might have hit me.
I had crap for memories before the dog pound. The flyspecked leftovers of my past were all that remained in my dreams.
I awoke dazed and confused, in the middle of the street, with my body stretched across the two yellow lines, quickly standing to shake myself off before darting away at a sprint. Lickety-split, the tender pads of my paws became painfully raw on the stovetop pavement. No matter, I continued, searching the scorched New Mexico desert suburb. I was chasing someone; who was a mystery to me. The memory hanging in front me like the lure of greyhound’s artificial rabbit rail—if I could just grasp it.
When my searing paws could take no more, I spotted two small girls giggling in delight, jumping through the sprinklers watering their lawn. They flaunted little ruffled swimsuits, dancing with the water rotation splashing them in the cool, green, grass yard. It created an oasis from the brutal sunshine, surrounding cactus, rock gardens, and black asphalt roads, with waves of heat dancing at eye level. The grass became a carpeted reprieve from the stinging burn. Immediately, I dropped onto my back, twisting my body against the welcoming earth, greedily absorbing its luxurious comfort. Water sprinkles tapped fresh droplets against my exposed pink tummy. It smelled alive.
I smiled from ear to ear.
“Hee hee,” the small blond girl started laughing at me. “You’re a happy doggy.”
I jumped to my feet to greet her, standing eye to eye with her and another little person the same size.
“Who are you?” Asked the little girl, sporting long brown drenched pigtails, dressed in a suit the color of lemons, with hip fringe, and a cartoon princess stretched across her extended stomach. “You have golden eyes, pup.”
I felt a sudden burst of energy, jetting from my crouched position, to make quick circles around the small people, flying through the sprinklers.
“Hee hee, yay,” I heard the blond girl laughing loudly. “Eeew doggy—he is sooo cute!”
“Oh my God!” An adult woman blurted from nearer the two-floor stucco house.
I halted, regarding the woman’s excited voice curiously. Frozen as still as an ice sculpture with my head cocked to the side, making sure I didn’t miss any cues. I blinked the water droplets from my eyes. The motherly woman was holding a tray of Red Delicious apples, with creamy peanut butter, and cheese sticks. I smelled all three simultaneously.
“Where did you come from?” She asked me. “You are the biggest silver dog I ever saw.”
In response to her friendly tone, I decided to make even faster, tighter, circles around the girls, until I rolled on to my back—sliding to a stop in front of them—my belly again exposed to show my submission. I wiggled by body.
Pet me, I willed them.
The mother set down the tray of food, with it clinking against the small concrete table. Her rubber sandals chirped like a squeaky toy, walking her through the sprinklers, fully dressed in a t-shirt and jean shorts to squat down next to the girls and me. Reaching out, she rubbed my readily available pink-skinned, white-furred belly. Her hands felt cool. I could feel the little girls’ saturated fingers gently rubbing behind my ears.
“Can we keep him mommy?”
“No way babe…the last thing we need is a dog,” the mother said.
“Please mama!!!”
“Babe this dog belongs to someone else...he looks well cared for...see how he has a blue bandana around his neck.”
She felt around the bandana with her clammy hands, searching for something.
“But he doesn’t have a tag—darn it.”
“What’s that?” The blond girl asked.
“A tag has the owner’s phone number or address. I would call them to let them know where their dog is. They’re probably worried sick.”
“We can take care of him mommy,” the pig-tailed girl encouraged her mother. “Until his parents find him.”
“I’m going to call Animal Control, girls. They need to come collect him, so they can help him to find his mommy or daddy.”
Watching the girls, I thought about how this would be a great place to live. I snuggled closer to them, wiggling my body with happiness and joy.
“He’s hurt, mommy,” the pigtailed girl mused, softly touching my hindquarters with her tiny wrinkled fingers.
She poked around the throbbing area that I hadn’t felt until now. Ouch. “He has blood on his leg and on his face mommy.”
The mother called for the girls.
“Come eat your snack!”
I followed behind them to the concrete table, lying down between the sweeties, with my white-tipped paws crossed formally in front of me. As I had hoped, my politeness paid off when they shared their snack with me. I think c
heese and peanut butter are my favorite foods. The peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth, forcing me to keep licking at it, smacking my chops in bliss. Saliva strings drooled from my lips to stroke the grass.
After snack time, a white truck pulled into the driveway. It had several air-conditioned dog kennels on the tail end. I guessed it was time to go. A man in a tan uniform stepped from behind the vehicle, holding a long pole with a rope attached to the end. Yikes. I needed to play this right, in order to not get roughed up. I sat perfectly still between the girls. They were crying. Leaning my heavy head against the blond girl’s leg, I tried to comfort her. I raised my eyes to see her sobbing face. I felt her sadness as if it were my own. It was.
“Mommy, no!” The blond girl blubbered, “Don’t let that man take him.”
The mom approached the dogcatcher and was speaking to him. I watched as he set down the pole and began walking towards me with his hand stretched out in front of him to offer me a whiff. Sniffing at his palm, I smelled a dozen different dogs, and antiseptic cleaner from the dog pound. I could smell nothing mean about him.
He patted me behind my cartilage thick ears, and then tapped his leg for me to follow. As requested, I trailed behind him with my rejected head hanging low. He opened the door to the kennel and drummed the open space with his hand. Not missing the beat, I jumped in and lay my head between my white paws.
My first day at the dog shelter, the man in tan walked me to the veterinarian's office, located behind a door at the end of the hallway. It was the longest walk of my life. I was so scared. The noise was earsplitting. Dogs were leaning against the metal gates, some were howling, others were giving me a sorrowful parting, as they scratched a goodbye at the empty air.
“It’s just for a check-up, buddy,” the man in tan informed me. “They’re going to fix you.”
I made it out of the vet’s office alive that day—not fully intact—the once bulging sack between my legs had been reshaped to form a saggy-skinned ineffective waste. The purebred bloodline butchered.
I was only in the shelter for a few more days before Cindy came to rescue me. I had never met her. Putting her hand out to introduce herself, she then ran it down my rigid back and then gently inspected the muscles of my thighs. Her lips pulled into a smile. She was impressed.
“I’m going to train you to be a service animal,” she said gleefully.
I was game—anything to get me off death row. I had watched too many dogs take the final walk. I had begun joining the other mutts in the clamorous farewell chorus—bidding our comrades adios—never to see them again. I knew the unfortunate ones hadn’t been adopted or lost their balls.
The new kennel at Cindy’s had a comfortable bed and better food. It also had her assistant Lenny. He was a real tail-dropper. Not a nice guy. He smelled of Pall Malls and booze. He had served time in prison for domestic abuse and larceny. The tattoos covering his body told a history of gang violence.
Cindy characterized Lenny as a “trained professional,” with an adept's understanding of dog behavior.
“He holds the proper qualifications to train service animals,” she said. “Acquired through a dog-training program made available during a prison stint. He is a passionate Pitbull enthusiast.”
“You are a Pitbull,” she said petting me behind my ears.
Cindy didn’t know that Lenny was two-faced. He followed her dog-training regimen when she was around. While she watched, he would encourage the dogs with positive words, “Good job dog,” supplying us with nibbles of cheese to reward our efforts. When she left for the day, the man would turn darker and surlier with every swig he took from the flask of vodka hidden in his blue Dickey’s pants pocket.
Lenny didn’t abuse me as much as the others. I always followed his orders. He chose to focus his efforts elsewhere. I don’t think the other dogs, Fred and Songbird, meant to disobey. They genuinely couldn’t understand Lenny’s drunken ramblings.
I had been at Cindy’s kennel for approximately two weeks; it was dusk when everything became smudged in black shadows. Lenny let us outside for our nightly sniff and leak. I trotted to the far side of the agility course to urinate on my favorite tree. The dead yellow patches of grass that I had killed with my piss stood out brightly in the reflected moonlight. Camouflaged by the tree’s obscure overhang, I listened as Lenny slurred a command to Fred.
“Go shit!”
Fred didn’t move a muscle. He was doing his best to obey Lenny’s command; clearly thinking the trainer had said Sit.
“Get out there you stupid fucking mutt!” He yelled at Fred, “Shit!”
Fred just sat there. I could feel the tension building in Lenny, like the buzz of an electrical wire.
Then, Lenny started kicking Fred in the ribs and stomach. The large German shepherd could have been fierce, but the poor guy was a pussycat. Lenny continued to kick at the big dog. Fred would grunt with each whack, until he cried out in pain. I felt helpless watching this happen from my darkened hideout.
“I see your creepy golden eyes, you bastard,” he hollered to me where I stood in the dark.
He stumbled around the yard yelling, “Kennel up, you freaks.”
Lenny opened the door from outside to allow the three of us to pass into the concrete corridor, leading to our individual cells. Along the right side were eight air-conditioned kennels, expanding the length of the building. On the left side, a wall of windows overlooked the agility park. Concrete partitions separated the rooms; with the chain-link gates propped open, allowing us to slip past the doors, into our individual units. I could hear Fred breathing hard through his pain, as he limped into his space.
Lenny kicked at Songbird when she entered her kennel. She attempted to dodge him with her tail tucked between her hind legs.
“Bitches get stitches,” he said, seething at her.
Clink, Lenny closed the beautiful Rottweiler’s cage.
Clink, Lenny closed Fred’s kennel. Fred’s tall ears had collapsed behind his head in defeat.
Clack, Lenny closed the door to my cell, but I noticed the sound was distinctly different from the clink of the other gates.
Sitting on my bed, I waited for Lenny to turn off the buzzing fluorescent hallway lights. My nubby ears perked to listen for the door leading to the offices to shut behind him. Standing from my bed, I moseyed over to the chain-link gate to inspect the latch. Giving it a small push with my scrunched jet muzzle. Creak. The chain-link gate swung outward into the hallway.
Stepping into the hallway, I heeded my disguise; my dark silver fur blended with the gray concrete floors and gunmetal gates. The windowed door to the offices was at the end of the hall. I knew how to open doors. This one had a lever handle. I gently hopped my front feet onto the door, sliding my white paws against the lever, dropping my feet back down to the ground. I hadn’t bumped the handle with my front foot hard enough the first time. So, I tried again, walking upright on my back feet, aiming both of my front paws at the handle. Trying to be quiet not to alert Lenny. I tapped the handle with my paws again and heard the click. The door cracked open just enough for me to fit my mug in the opening, pulling the door towards me, I squeezed my body through. The door clicked shut behind me. I took mindful steps to hide the tapping sound of my toenails against the concrete floor.
Lenny was still in the building. I listened to his shoes squeaking on the concrete, dancing back and forth in the front lobby area. Peering around the corner, I discovered the sound was Lenny mopping the floor. I noticed headphones covered his ears; with the angry music blasting his eardrums, he couldn’t hear me.
Pausing to place the mop against the welcome desk, he reached into his pants pocket to pull out the flask. Unscrewing the lid with his jailhouse tattooed fingers, the left middle three fingers spelled P-I-T, the right fingers showed B-U-L, he tilted his head back and polished off the remaining vodka.
Lenny was standing in a puddle of water.
I thought about Fred crying alone in his cell.
The rumbling thunder rolled from deep within me. My chest and throat became a vibrating electrical storm surging at Lenny. I was a force to reckon with.
Lenny stopped mid-reach for the mop, turning his body to face the tremor. I wanted him to see me. He was off balance and drunk. Locking his bloodshot, baffled eyes with my own appearing as two glowing orbs hovering in the dark corner. I was snarling. My lips curled back to expose my bright white fangs. My mouth was raining saliva from the smell of his anxiety.
“Hey, dog,” Lenny squinted his eyes to better to see me with. “How the fuck did you get…”
I felt calm. I was in control. The fountain of drool continued pouring from my mouth.
Lenny had told me, “You are a product of selective breeding. Humans designed you by selecting the best genes.”
Beginning with my wolf forefathers, he said, I was stronger and smarter than the animals that came before me.
Rearing back into my powerful hind legs I blasted forward. My front paws punching him in the chest—one hundred and fifty pounds of “genetically superior” bulk muscle. His feet slipped in the puddle of soapy water, causing him to tumble backwards from the impact, cracking the nape of his neck hard against the Welcome Desk.
Beware of Flight Attendant Page 1