Kevin and the Dog

I like to drink on the job. That’s why I worked for myself and paid a guy to drive me around. Yeah, he was drinking too, but somehow, he never got caught. One of Kevin’s finer qualities was his size. Whenever I found a car that I wanted, and there was a mean dog in the yard, I’d send big ole’ Kevin in to knock on the door and see if anyone was home. 

“That dog looks mean,” I said, as I weighed the benefits of Kevin getting bit. 

“Well…” he said, in his typical unhurried manner, taking a long swig from his freshly opened bottle of ice-cold beer. “If he tries to bite me, I’ll take it as a personal insult, which everybody knows…sip, slurp, gurgle… ahhh…I hate!” 

He looked as though he’d stolen his clothes from a passed-out hobo. Sometimes the stench was unbearable. But clearly that never occurred to Kevin. Neither did the reality of his poor living conditions. Kevin had a highly exalted estimation of himself, and he expected everybody else, including dogs, to honor his lofty view of himself. 

But this was an unusually large German Shepherd who you could tell was never let out of his enclosure. If there was ever any grass in the yard, it was trampled to death long ago in the early days of his miserable existence. Slimy rivulets of drool hung from his jagged teeth as he alternately growled and barked…warning strangers of impending danger. You could tell that this dog was never going to allow anyone to set foot inside of that yard. Kevin had his faults, but fear dogs wasn’t one of them. He was a compulsive liar. He would rather tell a fib for no apparent reason than tell the truth and enhance his reputation. He was lazy, dirty, and addicted to drugs. He somehow found a woman with identical qualities who was satisfied living with him in an old camper down by the river. His services were usually obtained for a paltry sum. Sometimes he did it just for the beer and for the chance to tag along with me. I often debated the value of enduring all of Kevin’s proclivities for the relatively miniscule amount of benefit derived. But there was an old Chevy pickup that looked like it hadn’t been on the road in many years that I thought I could make a lot of money on if I could get it cheap. 

“Go in there,” I told Kevin, “And see if they want to sell that old truck.” 

Kevin tipped up the beer that he’d just opened moments before and let the remaining contents drain into his open gullet. Then he grabbed another ice-cold bottle from the cooler, twisted off the top and took a sip as he got out and approached the snarling beast that was now trying to chew through the fencing and get ahold of him. 

“Kevin,” I said, reevaluating the whole idea. “Maybe you better not go in there.” 

But it was too late. Kevin had already pulled the latch on the gate and was just about to take a step inside when that big dog launched himself into the air and latched onto Kevin’s arm. Time seemed to slow down as he assessed the situation. The dog was really snarling and trying to tear Kevin’s arm off. But Kevin seemed unfazed by it and calmly took another sip of beer, then used the near empty bottle to conk the animal right on top of the head…CLANK!  The dog let out a pathetic yelp, but then went right back to snarling and gnawing on Kevin’s arm. After a second conk on the noggin, the dog appeared to be dazed and did let go of Kevin’s arm, but only to switch positions and start chewing on his ankle. Next thing you know, Kevin and the dog are on the ground and tangled up in a wrestling match. In no time, Kevin appears to be covered in dog manure and my mind begins to shift from concerns for Kevin’s well-being to how to get him to a hospital. Because I am pretty sure the paramedics are not going to put him in the ambulance with poop smeared all over his already rancid clothing. 

Just then, the door of the house opens, and an elderly man steps out with an axe handle in his hands. I’m thinking he is going to go over there and whack Kevin and was about suggest we should leave. But instead, he starts clubbing his own dog, over and over until finally the snarling monster lets loose of Kevin – and turns his attention on to the old man. But just before the big dog makes a meal out of the frail old fart, Kevin gets ahold of the dog’s tail. swings him around until he is completely off the ground and throws the dog right over the fence and out of his own yard. Upon landing, the dog lays there, momentarily stunned and unsure of what had just happened to him. He appears to be even more confused when Kevin points his finger at him and says, “Stay!”, with the authority of some kind of dog whisperer and the expectation that the unruly animal is now going to stop trying to eat people.

To everyone’s surprise, the old German Shepherd actually appeared to accept his defeat an sat down. He seemed to be contemplating the day’s events, mulling over his next move and considering his options. I’m thinking he’s about to run off because he appears to be looking around and surveying his new, unrestricted surroundings. And sure enough, he starts to slink away. And as soon as his owner calls his name, saying “Hey! Come back here!” that dog took off like his tail was on fire and appeared to be gone for good. 

“You want me to go get him?” Kevin offered out of politeness. 

The old man rubbed his chin and gazed off into the distance in contemplation and then said…”Nawww…we better not I s’poze…that bastard’s had me trapped in the house for nearly a month!” 

He let me have the old pickup for a good price, and as me and Kevin were towing it home, we happened to pass that old German Shepherd on the side of the road. I could feel Kevin putting on the brakes in the pickup behind me, so I pulled over. He opened the door and told that dog, “Get up in here!” And, by golly, that dog obeyed! And from that day forward, you never saw Kevin without that damn dog.