Free Dog Bites Man by James Duffy Page B

that did not lift, so he asked what was bothering them.
    "Amber," Edna snapped.
    "Amber? You mean your hippie servant girl?"
    "Yes! She brought us our coffee this morning
in her bare feet."
    "Now, Edna," her husband temporized. "It's not as if she made the coffee with her feet. You know, ground the beans between her toes."
    "Eldon, you just do not understand that she's impossible. If outsiders saw her in action, they'd say we were crazy."
    "Do you think we're crazy, Jack?" the mayor asked.
    Gullighy thought fast to avoid taking sides.
    "Yes," he said. "Truly crazy. But for entirely different reasons than keeping Amber."
    His jape broke the tension and he quickly started to present his "two-parter" for their consideration. He told them first that they needed to get a pet, probably a dog. And second, the mayor should host the St. Francis Festival.
    Gullighy got so carried away with his enthusiasm that he didnot notice—a real lapse for him—the lines hardening in Eldon's face, his lips pursed tight, his eyes narrowing.
    "So there it is," Jack said, concluding his rhapsody. "What do you think?" He sipped his coffee with deep pleasure, waiting for the expected congratulations.
    "No and no!" Eldon roared. "Never, never, never!"
    "Why?" Jack asked, startled.
    "Yes, why, dear? We have to do public events—that's why I trimmed my practice, remember? This sounds as harmless as you'll find."
    "I'll say it again. Never, never, never. We've never had a goddam pet. Christ, we never even had a goddam child. But that's a different story."
    "The subject never came up," Edna said. "The pet, I mean."
    "Goddam right it didn't. You don't know it, Edna, but I'll tell you right now, and I'll tell you, Jack, I hate dogs. Hate, loathe and despise them!"
    Neither Edna nor Jack spoke, waiting for the tirade to continue.
    "You never peddled papers in Minnesota. I did. The
Minnea
polis Star.
Forty below zero, ninety degrees in the shade. Didn't matter—I was out there every day. Eighty-six customers. And I swear, seventy of them had a dog. Now, I suppose, they'd all have guns, but back in my day it was dogs, dogs, dogs. Little yippie ones that just made you nervous. And big monsters that threatened your goddam life. Leap up on you and lick your face. Revolting! And every so often, bite. 'Oh, Skippy didn't mean it,' the idiots would say, when Skippy had just tried to take a substantial chunk out of my ass. They'd call up and complain when I left the paper on the sidewalk to avoid a confrontation. 'That Hoagland boy's not doing his job,' they'd tell the guy who bossed the paperboys.'He leaves the paper anyplace but on the porch.' Then I'd catch hell, 'cause no one would believe their precious animal had endangered my life.
    "And I don't like cats either. Stick their rear ends in your face when you hold them and try to be friendly—"
    "I had no idea, dear," Edna said quietly. "You've certainly kept this a secret from me all these years. Maybe it explains the Incident."
    "It may."
    Jack seized on the mention of the Incident to explain how pet ownership and the festival were wise P.P. He expounded his thoughts on the festival again, albeit more quietly. And brought in the contributions angle, making nice with the cardinal and every other makeweight he could think of.
    "As for the pet, Amber could take care of it," he added, he thought as a joke.
    "That's not a good idea," Edna said flatly. Had Jack lost her support?
    In the end, after Eldon had calmed down, he realized that Gullighy probably had one decent idea—the festival.
    "All right, you win," he said. "We'll honor St. Francis and the animal nuts. But no beasts in this house. Not now, not ever. And don't expect me to pet a single creature at your lawn party."
    "When you die, can we put a dead dog in your pyramid?" Gullighy asked.
    "Not funny, Jack. Not funny at all."

ELEVEN
    S coop Rice lay on the bed in his fourth-floor studio apartment on 87th Street. It was a walk-up and a