Sick Puppy

"Don't hurt me," said Stoat, lowering his arms.

"It's so tempting."

"Please don't."

The bearded man dangled the two bird beaks for Stoat to examine. "Vultures," he said. "They caught me in a bad mood."

Stoat closed his eyes and held them shut until he was alone. He didn't move from the floor for two hours, long after the intruder had departed. He remained bunched in the corner, his chin propped on his pallid knees, and tried to gather himself. Every time he thought about the last thing the captain had said, Palmer Stoat shuddered.

"Your wife is a very attractive woman. "

17

The dog was having a grand time.

That's the thing about being a Labrador retriever – you were born for fun. Seldom was your loopy, freewheeling mind cluttered by contemplation, and never at all by somber worry; every day was a romp. What else could there possibly be to life? Eating was a thrill. Pissing was a treat. Shitting was a joy. And licking your own balls? Bliss. And everywhere you went were gullible humans who patted and hugged and fussed over you.

So the dog was having a blast, cruising in the station wagon with Twilly Spree and Desirata Stoat. The new name? Fine. McGui

Did he miss Palmer Stoat? It was impossible to know, the canine memory being more sensually absorbent than sentimental; more stocked with sounds and smells than emotions. McGui

And at the moment McGui

For now he was glad to be back at Toad Island, where he could run the long beach and gnaw on driftwood and go bounding at will into the cool salty surf. He loped effortlessly, scattering the seabirds, with scarcely a twinge of pain from the place on his tummy where the stitches had been removed. So energetic were his shoreline frolics that McGui

But what was this? Something being draped across his face – a piece of cloth smelling vaguely of soap. The dog blinked open one eye: blackness. What had she done? McGui

Twilly Spree said: "I can't believe you blindfolded him."

Desie tugged the sheet to her chin. "He's Palmer's dog. I'm sorry, but I feel fu

She moved closer, and Twilly slipped an arm around her. He said, "I guess this means we have to be extra quiet, too."

"We have to be quiet, anyway. Mrs. Stinson is in the next room," Desie said.

Mrs. Stinson was the proprietress of Toad Island's only bed-and-breakfast. She stiffly had declared a no-dogs policy, and was in the process of turning them away when Twilly had produced a one-hundred-dollar bill and offered it as a "pet surcharge." Not only did Mrs. Stinson rent them the nicest room in the house but she brought McGui

Twilly said, "Mrs. Stinson is downstairs watching wrestling on Pay-Per-View."

"We should be quiet, just the same," said Desie. "Now I think you ought to kiss me."

"Look at the dog."

"I don't want to look at the dog."

"A purple banda

"It's mauve," Desie said.

Twilly was trying not to laugh.

"You're making fun of me," said Desie.

"No, I'm not. I think you're fantastic. I think I could search a thousand years and not find another woman who felt guilty about fooling around in front of her husband's dog."

"They're very intuitive, animals are. So would you please stop?"

"I'm not laughing. But just look at him," Twilly said. "If only we had a camera."

"That's it." Desie reached over and turned off the lamp. Then she climbed on top of Twilly, lifted his hands and placed them on her breasts. "Now, you listen," she said, keeping her voice low. "You told me you wanted to make love."

"I do." McGui

Desie said, "Did you notice I'm in my birthday suit?"

"Yup."

"And what am I doing?"

"Straddling me?"

"That's correct. And are those your hands on my boobs?"

"They are."

"And did you happen to notice," Desie said, "where myhand is?"

"I most certainly did."

"So can we please get on with this," she said, "because it's one of the big unanswered questions about this whole deal, about me ru

"The sex?"

Desie sighed. "Right. The sex. Thank God I don't have to spell everything out." She squeezed him playfully under the covers.

He smiled up at her. "Nothing like a little pressure the first time out."

"Oh, you can handle it." Desie, squeezing him harder. "You can definitelyhandle it."

"Hey! Watch those fingernails."

"Hush," she said, and kissed him on the mouth.

They were not so quiet, and not so still. Afterward, Desie rolled off and put her head next to Twilly's on Mrs. Stinson's handmade linen pillowcases. Desie could tell by the frequent rise and fall of his chest that he wasn't drowsy; he was wired. She switched on the lamp and he burst out laughing.

"Now what?" She snapped upright and saw McGui

Twilly whispered: "Dear God, we've traumatized him for life."

Desie broke into a giggle. Twilly removed the banda

She propped herself on one elbow. "Come back to bed. He doesn't need a walk."