Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The Tale of Angry Dog

Once upon a time there was an angry dog. “Angry Dog! Angry Dog!” people would shout as he strolled by. Everyone always wondered why his owners named him Angry Dog. Some assumed it was because of his angry demeanor, others because he always mauled passersby.

“That dog is Satan’s dog,” the older folk’d say. “I’m going to kill me that gosh darn dog one’ these days,” the younger folk’d say. And the children, they didn’t have much to say on account of them being chased across the neighborhood to be eaten by Angry Dog.

He used to be a good dog back in the day—back before he was bred as a fighting dog. “Good dog! Good dog!” he would hear with subsequent pats and belly rubs every time his owners had visitors. He would sit, roll over, shake hands, and he hardly ever humped as his balls were removed, you see. I can’t really say what caused his owners to turn such a perfectly good pup into a vicious fighting machine of death. I asked them once and they said, “protection,” but I really think it was for the money they got at the dog fights.

One day there was a secret town meeting where the destruction of Angry Dog was to be discussed. “We gotta kill that dang dog,” yelled one participant.

“Now how in tarnation are we gonna kill that there dog? He just about takes one of our arms off every time we get near the feller!” said another.

“How ‘bout we stuff cats with dynamite, and set catmines next to fire hydrants!” said yet another.

“You’re all ignorant and insensitive oafs,” yelled a young woman with college textbooks clutched to her chest. “It’s not the dog’s fault! We should be punishing his owners! They’re the ones who created this creature! Target them, not the—.” At that point the frothing beast burst through a wall in an explosion of splinters and pinned the young woman on the floor before she could finish her sentence.

When the town folk returned, all they found was the motionless body of the young woman. There wasn’t a bite on her. For months the cowardly town folk believed she had died of fright, but the coroner said no, her death was the result of a failed mugging.

To this day nobody knows Angry Dog’s whereabouts. All I have to say is be careful at the next town meeting, for it could be you who is involved in a failed mugging.


PuPCakes said...

...or perhaps the young woman was licked to death? sometimes dogs lick you to death...

frank said...

Only you could kill a person with kindness and mauling except not mauling.

This dog was--well, we'll figure out what this dog was once I get to writing it. Maybe it was you!

It was not.

Ninja said...

Maybe he's a ghost. BOO!

Darn, that didn't work as well as it did on "Witty Comics."

frank said...

He could very well be a ghost by now. I mean, this story IS set in the 50s. Oh I didn't mention that?

Ninja said...

Actually, I thought it was set in the 40's in the backwoods of Alabama. The hint was "Now how in tarnation are we gonna kill that there dog?"

Only in Tarnation, Alabama, would they want to kill that there dog.

frank said...

What in tarnation you mean that critter's from Alabamer! He's definitely from the south, that's for darn sure! Sufferin' succotash!

City Elf said...

is this an allegory? is the dog supposed to be obama? are you a republican, is that it?

he's not angry! he's just black!

frank said...

It's not true, believe me! I'm not a republican! Some animals are more equal than others, I swear!