Tail from the Admission Scandal

They got me almost right after I’d left The Ball and Bone. I figured it was for expired tags. I’d gotten my shot, just had never bothered to put the new tag on.

“Listen,” I told them when they stopped me. “I know it’s expired but I promise you. I’m up to date. I just left the thing at home.”

They didn’t care about whether I’d had my rabies shot. They didn’t care if my county registration was up to date.

They weren’t animal control. They were the feds.

***

I’d love to meet who ever first came up with the phrase, “a dog’s life,” to connote some life of luxury. It was probably an animal like a horse, pig, or sheep who had stay out in the barn and was just plain jealous.

Working like a dog is more accurate. A lot more.

Do you have puppies?

I have four. Well, one that’s mine, three others that are steps.

Janie had them before we got together. She’s pure bred lab. Her parents wanted to keep the line going and arranged the marriage for her.

Only problem? He was a real jerk. She says he was just never there for her. Eventually, the figurative became literal when he went out for a bag of Greenies and never came back.

We’ve never gotten married, mostly out of deference to her parents. Not only am I not a pure-breed Lab. I’m a Pit-Border mix. Her parents like me. They just say I’m not son-in-law material.

Still, I’ve taken care of Janie. I treat her three kids as if they were my own. They’re all geniuses. Like their mom, all graduated with honors from the Stanford Puppy Obedience Training school. SPOT’s really the best of the best.

All three have won Best in Show many times.

***

Then there’s Mikey. Take a look at him and you’d never ever guess, I’m his dad. He looks just like his mom and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was also a pure breed.

He ain’t.

Within weeks we knew he was different. Not in a bad way or anything, just a lot less serious; a lot more about the fun.

It became very clear very quickly that getting him into SPOT was going to be a challenge.

He was about six weeks, we took him to the park and he was all over the place. He’d run to get the ball, see a leaf blow and move to that.

No discipline.

Janie and me were sitting, watching the whole thing unfold and bemoaning how hard it was going to be when we heard a voice behind us.

“I might be able to help you.”

***

Freddy’s a boxer from the wrong side of the tracks who told us how he’d worked at getting out of there, getting into SPOT, and graduated with honors.

These days, he told us, he just looks to help others get to where he did.

It sounded so good, we didn’t really question it. That was a mistake.

Freddy said it’s simple. We help him, he helps us.

He had a charity set up that’s supposed to buy kibble for dogs in trouble. We help him by making a donation, he helps us.

I now know from the feds that no kibble was ever bought except for Freddy. Along with several tennis ball machines and wading pools — one with jets.

We did what he said and a week later he said that Mikey had aced the admissions exam and would be going to SPOT.

I guess we should have been more suspicious since Mikey had never taken the test.

***

It all became clear when the feds explained it all and gave me a choice — turn on Freddy or, for the next few years, instead of my nice dog house… it’s the big house for me.

There was never really a question.