Dog Training The American Male Part 21

Anita rubbed her left hand along the inside of Spencer's thigh. "Eighty-two pounds of sinew and muscle, huh? Is that when it's angry?"

Spencer's eye's fluttered. "You know . . . I haven't had good Asian food in quite some time."

WHILE SPENCER WAS on his blind date, Nancy found herself in Mr. Cabot's three-bedroom suite, helping him on with his c.u.mmerbund. The millionaire was dressed in a cla.s.sic white dinner jacket, white shirt, black trousers and a matching bow-tie . . . what the quirky retiree referred to as his "James Bond pick-up attire."

Arm in arm, she led him out of the apartment to the elevators. They rode downstairs to the rec room, which had been converted into a senior citizen's rendition of "Casino Royale." There were blackjack and poker tables, roulette, and a Wheel of Fortune. Several hundred residents, dressed in evening wear and dinner jackets were gambling with fake money provided by the staff, with prizes promised to the top twenty earners at the end of the night.

Mr. Cabot signed in at the registration desk and received his envelope of fake money.

Nancy spotted Helen dealing cards at one of the poker tables. "There she is, dealing cards at Carmella's table. The moment you approach, my friend's arranged for one of the players to give up their seat. Are you ready to dazzle C. C. Rider with your card-playing skills?"

"Not yet. Give the v.i.a.g.r.a another few minutes to kick in."

"You took v.i.a.g.r.a? I thought you were here to play poker?"

"I'm here to poke her all right-poke her with my one-eyed trouser snake. Last time Carmella saw it, it was hiding beneath my two rocks. This time . . . watch out, sister."

Why do men get more disgusting as they age?

"Go on over, Dr. Nancy, I'll be there in a two shakes."

Nancy headed over to the table where Helen was dealing cards from a shoe. Seated around the green felt from left to right were Sol Rabinowitz and his hearing-impaired wife, Esther, Morty Goldman and Carmella, Janie Honeywell, a three-hundred pound red-head giggle-puss, and Bill Blackmon, a retired cardiologist from Des Moines, Iowa.

"Hi, Helen. How's it going?"

"Good, Nancy. Are you my relief?"

"Looks that way."

Carmella watched the two women suspiciously as they traded places. "What's she doing here?"

"Nancy's a volunteer, just like me. Watch out for my mother-in-law, Nance. I think she's looking at Janey's cards using the reflection from her lapel pin."

The heavyset red-head reached for her shiny silver Weight Watchers pin, causing the lump of jiggling fat beneath her arm to knock over Carmella's stack of chips.

"Easy, Rush Bimbo."

"C.C., have you been looking at my cards?"

"Of course I've been looking at your cards. So has Doc Blackmon."

"Actually," the retired cardiologist grinned, "I've been looking at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Professionally, of course."

Helen glanced over Nancy's shoulder to see Mr. Cabot approaching from across the room. She nodded at Blackmon, who pocketed his chips. "Think I'll check out the big wheel. Janey, why don't you bring the twins over to my apartment later and I'll raise the stakes, heh-heh."

"Oh, behave." She slapped him playfully on the back, the powerful blow sending him stumbling into Mr. Cabot's erection.

"Aww!" Cabot dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh no!" Nancy rushed over to him, in full panic. "Mr. Cabot, what's wrong? You're turning red. Just stay calm and breathe. Can you tell me what hurts?"

"My . . . hard . . . my hard-"

Sol Rabinowitz leaned over and listened. "He said his heart. My G.o.d, he's having a heart attack! Quick, somebody get the number for 911!"

Janie Honeywell grabbed Dr. Blackmon by his arm, tearing the fabric of his jacket as she dragged him over. "He's having a heart attack, Doc. Do something!"

"And be sued for malpractice? Forget it. Allow the man to croak in peace."

Helen leaned over Nancy. "Hang in there, Mr. Cabot, an ambulance is on the way."

"Where's . . . Carmella? Must . . . show her-"

Nancy rushed over to Jacob's mother's side. "He's asking for you."

"Do I look like a priest?"

"Stop being so selfish!" Nancy led Carmella by the elbows to Mr. Cabot- -as whirling scarlet lights illuminated the rec hall. Seconds later, two EMTs were making their way through the jittery crowd of seniors, wheeling a crash cart on a gurney.

"Out of the way, folks, give us room. What seems to be the problem, sir?"

"He says it's his heart," Nancy answered.

The EMT stared at the pretty pet.i.te blonde. "Don't I know you?"

"Yeah," Carmella said. "She's your wh.o.r.e."

The other Emergency Tech worked on Mr. Cabot, getting his vitals. "Blood pressure's 145 over 80, pulse 92. Where's it hurt, big guy?"

"My . . . d.i.c.k. I took v.i.a.g.r.a . . . he hit me in the groin."

All eyes focused on Mr. Cabot's hard-on, wedged painfully beneath his c.u.mmerbund.

"What did he say?" squawked Esther Rabinowitz.

"He said it's his schmeckle." Sol yelled back.

"His pickle?"

"Exactly. Play your cards."

The EMTs loosened Mr. Cabot's c.u.mmerbund, then strapped him down onto the gurney, his erect p.e.n.i.s pitching tent beneath his trousers.

Nancy stopped them. "Wait. If it's not his heart, why are you taking him?"

"His blood pressure's elevated; it could be a v.i.a.g.r.a overdose. We'll admit him overnight and keep an eye on it."

"I don't understand," Janie said. "They're going to watch his hard-on all night?"

Morty snickered. "Die Hard 5: v.i.a.g.r.a Stakeout."

Carmella leaned over Cabot as they wheeled him away. "Nice try, Truman, but that's not the kind of saddle I ride. Maybe they can fix you while you're in the hospital."

DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE.

LESSON SEVEN: EXERCISE.

"I have a dilemma, listeners. A friend of mine-an older gentleman-seeks the company of a controlling, egotistical woman who won't give him the time of day. I'm asking all you dog lovers out there for a solution; give me a call at 561-222-WOWF, or you can text a solution to star-WOWF on your mobile phone.

"Looks like we have our first caller; Eric from Lantana. Talk to me Eric."

"Dr. Beach, life is like a p.e.n.i.s-simple, relaxed, and hanging freely. It's women who make it hard."

"Well said, Eric. And if it wasn't for women, men would spend their entire day flaccid on the couch, drinking beer. Next caller: Felicity from Weston. Felicity, do you have a solution for my hard-up older gentleman?"

"I was just wonderin' if this older guy knows how to mow a lawn. 'Cause if he does, I'll let him do me doggy style."

"He doesn't mow lawns, Felicity."

"What about Eric? He sounds like a guy who could trim a mean hedge."

"Good-bye, Lynnie. Stacey from Wellington, one of our regulars. Help me out here, Stacey."

"Nancy, it sounds to me like you've got two Alpha dogs in the mix. My advice is to have the male take on the role of the submissive partner."

"How does he do that when the female refuses to engage him?"

"Does she engage in other male-female relationships?"

"In fact, she's allowing two other males to hump her leg, if you catch my drift."

"So you have a b.i.t.c.h in heat, but she's particular. All your friend has to do is figure out what these other two males have that he doesn't have and get it."

THE WHITE K-9 van was already parked by the curb when Nancy arrived home from work. Spencer Botchin greeted her with a limp, a band-aid covering the bridge of his nose.

"My G.o.d. What happened to you?"

"Your friend, the English Springer Spaniel. She doesn't need a man, she needs a muzzle."

"Spencer, I am so sorry."

"Ah, no worries. I'll be in full a.s.sault gear when we reconvene later tonight. Meanwhile, I've brought along a few accessories to help rid your dog of his separation anxiety. Exercise is the key to keeping your pet mentally and physically fit, Nancy, and Sam could certainly stand to lose a few pounds."

"Isn't walking exercise?"

"Walking is bonding time, and with your schedule I suspect you skimp on that, too. Face it, Nancy, your dog is lethargic. He sits at home all day lacking stimulation, surrounded by a sensory-blanketing wood fence while he yearns for his pack. What Sam needs is something to jolt him out of his sedentary ways. Exercise can do that, provided we make it both fun and challenging."

Spencer opened the van's rear doors. The cage holding Tilda was gone, the s.p.a.ce now occupied from floor to ceiling with a variety of equipment.

AT PRECISELY 6:13 p.m., Jacob Cope parked his Volkswagen van in the driveway. He felt tired and depressed, stuck in a job that kept him Just Over Broke, his new career dependent for the moment on a woman more interested in having s.e.x with him than promoting his act. He envisioned himself as a hamster on a wheel-perpetually running but getting nowhere.

The idling van began to heat up, forcing him to engage reality once more. Shutting off the engine, he pushed open the rust-encrusted door and slid off the torn seat cushion. Sleepwalking his way up the driveway, he ignored the newspaper lying on the front stoop and keyed in.

Jacob wiped the bottom of his sandals on the new door mat and entered his home. He bypa.s.sed the bathroom and trudged into the kitchen, surprised to find the sliding door's drapes closed.

Seated in the dark was Nancy.

"Nance? What are you doing?"

"Shh. Listen."

The two of them listened to the dog barking out back. "Doesn't he sound happier?"

"I don't know. I guess. Why are the drapes closed?"

"It's a surprise." She opened the curtains, revealing a yard filled with colorful plastic equipment.

"What's all this? Looks like you robbed a McDonald's play area."

"It's a doggy obstacle course. Let me show you."

He followed her outside, wondering what the elaborate set-up would tally on next month's expense ledger.

Nancy yelled, "Sam, come!"

The German Shepherd hustled over to her right side.

"There's a good boy. Let's show Daddy what we can do."

"Daddy?" Jacob grinned. "I like that."

"We begin with the doggy crawl." Nancy directed Sam through a three-foot-high, six-foot-long porous plastic tube. "Good boy! Then it's a quick run around the zig-zag."

Sam raced after Nancy, following a serpentine pattern created using bright orange cones.

"Then it's the Rover Jump-Over, set at beginner's height."

Sam leapt over the two-foot-high soft plastic hurdle.

"Up and over the Teeter Totter . . ."

The dog walked up, then down the kid's toy, maintaining its balance.