THE BEST LAID PLAN
My name is Grover Hatfield. I do handyman work now that I'm retired. I still get around, and I'm in good health. I'm proud to say everything still works. That's a necessity if you want to please the ladies. People tell me stuff. That's how I learned this story. It involves two gay guys and
Doodles, a male Chihuahua. Doodles was a small dog, probably about 7 or 8 pounds, covered with short, coarse white fur, a dark spot on his head that made him look like he was wearing one of those little Jewish hats.
Now some dogs are so stupid you can't teach them any tricks, about the only thing they can do is find the food and water bowl before you trip over it and kick the damn thing over. Doodles wasn't dumb, he was just as smart as they come. He knew every trick in the book and a few that hadn't been written down.
Doodles was a gift from Paisley Bob to his paramour Andy Sedacocus. They were a gay "married" couple that lived on the fringe of show business, on the edge of Las Vegas, a few miles into the desert where the city rules on dogs don't mean squat. Bob was a dog trainer par excellence. They had an act that you might have seen on "America's Got Talent." It was the act where the dogs do all kinds of tricks; jumping, walking inside your legs, catching plastic saucers, wearing a hat and dress while pushing a baby carriage with another little dog inside.
Paisley Bob, or Bob, as he preferred to be called, was the trainer and organizer. Andy wore a tux, but Bob was the real genius, even if the public did not see him except at the grand finale. That's when he would introduce "Brandy, the talking dog," who is going to say, "Good Night."
Brandy, a curly black-haired mutt, walked out standing on two legs, wearing his bowtie and actually said "Good Night" into the microphone. To be honest, it sounded like "Good Night" if you knew what he was supposed to say.
Bob was the jealous type. When he realized that Andy was fucking around behind his back, rather than in his butt, for it was Bob who was a bottom dweller, well he went plumb crazy. But Bob was a cagey rascal, the kind who says nothing but lies in wait. He knew full well that most Gay couples are not faithful. Bob trusted that Andy was wearing rubbers when Andy peckered whoever he was having sex with. Bob's concern was if Andy was barebacking, he might catch an STD and bring it on home. Also, Bob, being the jealous sort, had reason to believe that Andy was shoving his dick into a whole lot of gay Las Vegas butts, and he was right on that score.
The Casino, where they were doing the dog act, was only a short distance from the Vegas Gay Bathhouse. Andy would arrive out of breath, sometimes late for his participation in the part of the act. He was supposed to run out, and 5 or 6 dogs would jump into his arms. Occasionally Andy rushed in, Bob would notice that Andy's fly was unzipped or there was a cum stain on his tight trousers.
Paisley Bob was willing to put up with minor discretions, but he didn't want Andy bottom fishing in their king-sized bed on that third week of each month. That was when Bob drove north to visit his 83-year-old mom in a rest home up in Reno. It wasn't a very nice thing to do, but Bob, in a vengeful manner, trained Doodles the Chihuahua, to go after any erect naked penis he saw. Bob taught Doodles using a full-sized blow-up plastic doll with a hot dog stuck between its legs. He taught the small dog to bite deep and not let go.
Sad to tell, there was a windstorm last August. Bob was on his way back from Reno. He got sideswiped by a big diesel truck. He drove off the road and hit the gas tank of one of those little service stations along the desert. Needless to say, there was no one there to pull Bob out. He ended up barbequed. His last thought must have been," Thank God I didn't bring any dog with me." That was the kind of guy Paisley Bob was.
When Andy heard the fatal news from the Highway Patrol on his cell phone, he was, as you might expect, cavorting in the Las Vegas bathhouse. Naturally, he was distraught, but he stayed late, had sex with three more guys, and went home just as the sun was rising. I guess Andy figured that good morning fucks are better than a tranquilizer.
In the days that followed, Andy got through the funeral arrangements.
Since there wasn't much left of Bob, after the car burned, Andy went out to the crash site and shoveled what he thought was Bob's ashes into a heart-shaped candy box. Andy gave them to the funeral director to put in the casket. Fearing Bob's relatives would speak poorly of him, he paid twenty grand for a marble casket, a fancy headstone with the statue of a dog on top. Bob was buried in a cemetery off route 6. The inscription on the headstone said,
"A kind and loving man -- a dog's best friend."
Of course, no one from Bob's family showed up at the service, just a few gay friends and casino workers. Andy took them all out to dinner afterward at the Bellagio Buffet. That seemed to work nicely. One of the stagehands was crying so much that Andy took him in his arms. That's when he learned that Bob had been fucking on the night of Andy's AA meeting. The stagehand didn't realize Andy and Bob were "married."
