Free Me and My Manny by M.A. MacAfee Page A

reined in. Spike’s threat to other animals caused his owners to outfit him with a leather muzzle. When wearing it, he looked like Hannibal Lector, another character with a taste for his own species.
    And Spike was an eating machine. His insatiable appetite resulted in the need for gallon-sized poop bags, according to Ruthie.
    After a few minutes, I once again looked out the peephole. Seeing nothing, I pressed my ear to the door. Spike seldom barked, his one commendable trait, especially for an apartment-house dog.
    The coast clear, I stepped into the hall and glanced toward the elevator across from me to my right. I then looked leftward toward the trash chute and the fire exit. A new sign had been posted on the propped-open door. “Please Keep Closed” it read. About to head for the trash chute, I noticed a furry object at my feet. Reddish brown in color, it appeared to be a cat’s paw.
    Without further inspection, I picked it up with a torn piece of my trash bag and, as I straightened, it dawned on me. Spike, a Rottweiler, didn’t have a tail! Meaning the tail I supposed he’d been chasing inside his tight circle must have belonged to Miss Kitty.
    I rushed to the trash closet and tossed the paw along with my refuse down the chute. This was no joke, I thought, wiping my hands on my jeans. The ill-tempered Spike was not in the least playful. To him, every game was a grudge match, one that he insisted in winning. Be it tug-of-war with a rope or go fetch with a stick, Spike kept at it until he gained the prize. In exchange, he let his defeated playmates retain their limbs. But this time was different, and I thought I knew why.
    The manny captivated Ruthie and caused her frustration with Jason to surface. Being dependent on her for everything, Spike felt threatened by Ruthie’s newfound enchantment. Though dumb as dirt, Spike was smart enough to sense that if Ruthie took up with a manny, he’d be off to the pound. The housebound Jason was not equipped to care for an animal any more than he could for himself.
    I hurried back to my apartment and locked the door behind me. Spike was top dog around here, and he aimed to keep it that way. The manny had trespassed on Spike’s well-guarded territory and the predator meant to bag him as prey.
    I looked at Wolf, sprawled on the recliner as if in a deep and dreamless sleep. This was more than just another turf war. That canine barbarian was out to eat my manny.

Dealing with a Phobic Neighbor
     
    When Harry got back from the bakery, he banged on the front door. “Why the chain?”
    After letting him in, I said that Spike had been out in the hall again. With a knowing nod, he went into the kitchen and placed the pink donut box on the table.
    “Yesterday, I’m standing in the hall waiting for the elevator,” he said. “I begin hearing these weird sniffing sounds coming from inside the Pritchards’ front door. Curious, I go over and peek through the peephole, and not what I expect, I see a distorted eyeball looking back at me like something out of a horror movie.”
    “It’s Spike. He hates the manny. It looks like a human being, but doesn’t smell or move like one.” I opened the pink box and sniffed the sugary cakes.
    “Being a watchdog, Spike’s got a point,” Harry said. “Guess he’s not so dumb if he’s figured people look through that hole in the door, just not from the outside.”
    I set two cups of coffee on the table and opened the fridge for the milk. “The Pritchards could get a security system for the price of that animal’s upkeep. Besides his daily care, they pay extra rental fees and higher insurance rates just to keep him here.”
    “He makes Jason less anxious,” Harry said, lowering himself to a chair.
    I sat across from him. “Jason maybe, but not Ruthie. It doesn’t make sense. They got this overkill watchdog up here on the fourth floor. Yet late at night in all kinds of weather, Ruthie has to take it out so it can relieve itself.”
    Harry