K-9

525 °C (980 °F) Volkswagen

Then there was the dog. The dog was a demon manifested into this ugly, matted mongrel, with yellowing fangs that hung in place from the dog’s gnarled black gums. It was Lillian’s dog, that’s why I had put up with the damned thing in the first place. The dog destroyed everything, from couch cushions to shoes. I wanted it gone. But it was Lillian’s dog, so it remained in the house.

The dog was a f****r. It knew I didn’t like him and it didn’t like me. During the mornings I would wake out of a dream and stumble into the kitchen to find it shitting in the corner or pissing on the fridge. Why Lillian insisted on harboring this b***h of dog in our house was beyond my comprehension. But it was Lillian’s dog, so it remained.

One night Lillian and I were getting ready to go to a bar for a couple drinks. It was Friday night and she was bored and I was horny but we decided on the bar down the street. It was in walking distance and we didn’t have to drive Lillian’s compact Volkswagen. Her car was a mobile piece of s**t.

I pocketed my cigarettes and looked for my lighter. The lighter was a forty year old golden Zippo, and it supposedly belonged to Hitler. My father was in the war and he ended up with Hitler’s lighter. My father said he took it out of his pocket when they found him dead. Everybody took something from his dead body, his boots, his clothes. His mustache. My father took his lighter. Now it’s mine, and every time I light one up, my first thoughts are of all the Jews who died in the fires set by this lighter. My father was a Nazi.

I opened drawers, I searched pockets. I looked in Lillian’s purse. But the damned thing wasn’t anywhere. Whatever, I’ll just buy some matches.

Lillian always takes her time in the bathroom, applying layers of mysterious eye shadow and seductive lip stick. I tell her to hurry up and she replies with an antagonizing finger. I’m lying on the bed staring at her bare legs and trying not to get an erection when the damn dog walks in the bedroom. It jumps up on the bed next to me and I push it away. The f*****g mutt drools out of the side of its decaying lips and soaks my jeans.

“God damn this f*****g dog!” I wipe the drool off my jeans but it smears like sticky semen.

Lillian walks out of the bathroom looking like a dazed Disney princess. There was still white powder on her nose and some stuck to her lip stick. She laughed and grabbed her dress out of the closet.

“Have you seen my lighter?”

“What?”

“Have you seen my lighter? My gold lighter, the one my father gave me?”

Lillian’s dress is halfway on and she’s leaning over the counter again sniffing away.

“Nope. You should look in my purse.”

“I did already.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

I pushed the dog onto the ground and took off my jeans and grabbed a new pair. The dog stared blankly at me as I struggled putting on the other pair of jeans. I told Lillian to hurry up and she laughed and did another line, her dress halfway on. I walked into the bathroom and pulled up her dress and buttoned the buttons and zipped the zippers while she laughed and wiped the white powder from her face.

“Let’s go already.”

“Alright, Jesus, I’m ready.”

The dog was kneeling itself over my drool-tainted jeans. Its head was turned towards me and Lillian, and it was smiling. We both knew what is was going to do, and it knew what it was going to do. The f*****g dog.

Lillian laughed. I was enraged and I pulled Lillian out of the bedroom and shut the door. The dog finished shitting on my pants, there was a golden pyramid issuing steam out of its soggy structure. I just stood there.

Lillian was knocking on the door.

“Hey! Don’t hurt Fräulein,”

“Shut up, Lillian. I have to deal with your b***h dog.”

The door knob was jingling and I turned the lock.

I faced the dog and it was cowering in the corner. I knelt down and looked at the s**t. The whole room contained no oxygen save for the burning odor of dog s**t. The s**t was oddly shaped, there seemed to be something undigested in the s**t. There was a shiny piece of gold in the s**t. I left the room and closed the door. Lillian was on the couch smiling.

“Let’s go already!”

I didn’t answer her. Instead I went to the kitchen and grabbed some plastic gloves. I went back to the bedroom, the smell overwhelming. I kneeled down over the s**t and put the gloves on. It can’t be what I think it is. It better not be.

I reached into the warm pile. I squeezed, it felt like microwaved toothpaste. There was nothing in the s**t. My lighter has to be in here. This f*****g dog swallowed my lighter and s**t it out onto my jeans. I used the other gloved hand and scooped the pile into both gloved, cupped hands. I was nauseous. I was going to puke. My dinner was halfway in my throat. I held my breath and searched the pile of s**t with desperate hands. I squeezed the s**t and it pressured out between my fingers. There was nothing in the pile of s**t.

I left the room with the s**t in my hands.

“Open the door. Lillian, open the f*****g door!”

The door opened and I stepped out into the cold night air. I heaved the s**t into my neighbor’s yard and took off the gloves cautiously. In the house Lillian was on the couch and she had the television on. A commercial for toilet paper played out. I went into the bed room and grabbed the dog by the collar and yanked it out of the house. I put it in the back yard.

“But it’s cold outside, she’ll get cold.”

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink.

“Lillian, shut up, it’s a f*****g dog for s***s sake.”

“But,”

“Forget it, let’s go.”

Outside, Lillian complained about it being too cold, even though the bar was three blocks away.

“Let’s take the car. It’s terribly cold out here.”

We got in the small Volkswagen; I sat in the driver’s seat. Lillian remained outside the door. Lillian doesn’t open car doors by herself, only when she is by herself. I sighed and got out of the car and walked around and opened the door and she stumbled in intoxicatingly and I shut the door. I looked at the fence and saw the dog, Fräulein, sitting, staring at me behind its new cell. The headlights of the car glowed in its evil eyes and I flipped it off.

I got in the car and slammed the door, pissed off, thinking about that f*****g dog. I looked at Lillian and her eyes looked glazed. She shivered lightly and I put the car in reverse.

I ask her quietly, “Did you turn the television off?”

Lillian’s voice squeaks through the motor, I hear her say, “Yes. I’m pretty sure.”

The car is on the road. We’ll be at the bar in less than a minute. Lillian laughs quietly and says to me, “Oh, look, here’s your lighter.”      

After we left the bar, Lillian’s nose started to bleed. Drops stained her satin dress, painted the sidewalk. I held her close as we walked to the car. She held a napkin to her face and every once in a while she would blow a red bubble out of her nostril. I told her as we got into the car to lay off the powder.

I drove home drunk while Lillian held the soaked napkin to her face. I lit a cigarette with the gold zippo and laughed. I could laugh at what happened now because I was drunk and didn’t give a golden s**t. Lillian told me to shut up. She thought I was laughing at her bloody nose, and she told me to shut the f**k up. I kept laughing, every time she opened her mouth I laughed harder. She started hitting me.

I swerved onto our street; I could see the illuminated window of our house, Apartment K-9. The only house with a window lit. It was three in the morning and I was driving us home drunk because there was no one on the streets driving. I’m not going to crash this f*****g wagon.

Lillian was still hitting me even though I stopped laughing. I told her to f**k off, but her hands slapped and stung my face. I was about to pull into our driveway. When she saw that she wasn’t causing me pain she punched me in the groin and somehow that sent us crashing through our fence. I brake and Lillian screams.

I get out of the car. I don’t have to open the door for Lillian because she’s already out and she’s screaming.

“WHAT THE F**K DID YOU DO THAT FOR?”

There are pieces of the fence scattered in the moonlit grass. I’m standing in our backyard, the car sitting out of place on the lawn and Lillian starts to hit me again.

“Will you cut it out already?”

“NO, YOU HIT FRAULEIN! YOU RAN RIGHT OVER HER!”

I grab her arms so she stops slapping at me and I notice that the dog is under the Volkswagen. It’s not moving; all I see is a dark outline of the dead dog.

Lillian runs into the house and I follow her in. I don’t even bother to move the car. It’s not an issue for me right now. The couch looks inviting and I sit down, drunk and dazed and a little shocked at what just happened. I turn the television on and there is an ASPCA commercial.

Lillian is in the bathroom and I can hear her moan and whine and cry and open drawers and close them and flush the toilet and shut the door.

Finally she comes out. She is not wearing her dress and she’s only wearing socks. There’s a little blood seeping out of her nose. I look at her and she’s looking at me with rage in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything. I hear a door close and she’s in bed.

I get off the couch and go outside. There is a light on in my neighbor’s house, Jonathan and Barbara Rimsky, and their front door opens. Jonathan comes out, accompanied by his wife. By the time I’m outside they see me and there’s no hiding from them now.

“Charley, hey neighbor, what the devil just happened?”

I point at the fence. They crane their heads to look where I point. They’re too scared to get off the porch.

“What the hell? Was it a drunk driver?”

“Something like that.”

“Barbara just called the police.”

Barbara Rimsky leans her head over her husband’s shoulder. “I thought it was gunshot when I first heard it. We were both asleep and I just thought it was a damn hooligan with a gun.”

“There’s no need to call the police.”

“Oh, they’re already on their way over.”

Great.

“I appreciate your concern, but there really isn’t any reason to call---”

“Well who crashed into your fence?”

“It was Lillian. She was drunk, and I think it’s best to keep the police out of this.”

“Lillian?”

They both exchanged looks. I start to walk back towards my front door. I wave a hand and say, “Thanks anyways.”

“Wait, Charley, hey!”

I shut the door and lock it. The television is still on and the show Cops is playing. I reach into my pockets and feel the lighter and go out the back door into the back yard. The moon has shifted and I can see the car and the dog under it clearly. I light the cigarette and kneel down by the car. The dog’s blank eyes stare in one spot. I can smell exhaust. I can smell acrid gasoline, and by the time I realize there might be a gasoline trail the ash from my cigarette falls to the lawn, a little flame sprouts in the grass and I turn and run in the opposite direction. The flame grows, it spreads to the dog under the car and the dog lights up like paper. It’s so bright, I can smell the dog, I can smell the dogs s**t, and then the car blows up.

 

Author's Note

My favorite story

Reviews

[Naraly Godinez]

Other than that comedic .. Repulsive when regarding the bowels movements over all funny =)

[Naraly Godinez]

Alright part two I'm ready :)! I feel bad to all the men in your stories if they hate the girl so much why do they put up with them ??