Isle of Dogs

"Oh, will you ever forgive me, Bedford?" Mrs. Crimm begged and sniffed.

His magnifying glass caught the edge of the napkin and he yanked it out of his collar and flung it to the floor, his worst fear realized.

"Just tell me how," he said as cramps seized his submarine. "How did you find them? The phone book? Di

"Never at di

"There is no worse flaw you could have! And Pony must be in on it, too," the governor said breathlessly as his submarine cut through the dark, convoluted surface of his well-being, the periscope up and spying on the enemy, which in this case was his unfaithful wife. "That scoundrel Pony had to know what you've been doing since he's here waiting on you hand and foot all day. And I doubt they've been sneaking into the mansion at night. Please don't tell me they have! That would be the most vile of degradations if you've been sneaking them in at night while I'm sleeping in the same bed! Go back upstairs this instant!" he ordered his daughters. "We're having a fight, and you know we never fight in front of you!"

"Never at night," Mrs. Crimm swore as her daughters' heavy footsteps sluggishly shuffled around and thudded back upstairs. "After I get them, they always arrive the next morning, sweet husband, and I've been hiding them in a linen closet."

"Well, you can rest assured I'll check every linen closet the moment I arrive home today," the governor thundered, and he would have checked now, but his submarine was in distress and headed straight for a mine. "And if I find them there-or even one-that's it. I mean it."

"You won't," she said, dabbing her eyes and calculating where she could hide the trivets after she snatched them out of the linen closet the instant he left. "I promise on my life. You can check the linen closets all you like forever, my dearest, and they'll have nothing in them but linens. All of our pretty linens, neatly pressed, folded, and stacked."

The governor broke out in a heavy cold sweat as the first explosion reverberated through his hollow organs in an awesome, foul wave and rolled with gathering momentum toward his orifice. Bedford Crimm IV's submarine armed its torpedoes and slammed shut its sphincter muscle hatch as he fled with great commotion to the nearest powder room.

Six

Once a week, Dr. Faux took the ferry to Tangier Island, where he donated his time and skills to people who had no local physicians, dentists, or veterinarians. It was his mission in life, he often said, to help the less privileged watermen and their families, who were unaware of his unusual billing practices and creative coding that routinely defrauded Virginia's Medicaid program.

Dentists, Dr. Faux thought, had no choice but to supplement their incomes at the expense of the government, and he sincerely believed that subjecting the Islanders to u

"Seems to be a lot of commotion out there," Dr. Faux commented, deciding that the tooth he had just filled would require another root canal. "Now Fo

Fo

"Entirely too many," he admonished Fo

Fo

"Nah, I can't drink it," he said, and his numb lips and tongue felt ten times their normal size. "I'm so swelled up, I'm likete choke!"

"What about bottled water? They have some really good ones these days with fruit flavors and lots of fizz." Dr. Faux continued to stare out the window. "Why does that spotter plane keep circling overhead? And who is that soaking wet trooper with a paint bucket and a bottle of Evian and why is everybody chasing him down the street? Well, while I've got you doped up, I may as well adjust your braces."

Dr. Faux paused to jot down several codes and notes on Fo

"Nah!" Fo

Fo

"He gave me a look at a photo of his car," Fo

It was a good question, but as usual, nobody took Fo

"I swa

"I'm a die! He totes that juice harp everywhere and sure plays a pretty tune." Gi

"His daddy ought to give him the dickens, but he's always bragging on that boy," Gi

"Soon as we get these braces off," Dr. Faux said as he pulled on a new pair of surgical gloves that would be billed for three times their value, "I'm going to recommend crowns for eight of your front teeth. You up for a little blood work this morning?" he added, because Dr. Faux had discovered there was quite a market for selling blood to shady medical researchers who were doing genetic studies of closed populations.

"Nah!" Fo

"Not to worry about crowns, Fo