Ten Funny Stories Complete Collection

Rich Woman's Dog

Paul R. Wonning

Bernie Fuller was a dog. He enjoyed women. In fact, Bernie enjoyed a lot of women. Being a dog did create problems. Right now his problems were named Kate and Melanie. His amorous activities with Kate the previous night extended into the morning hours. He overslept. He awoke, looked at the clock and bolted from bed. He could tell from the look on her face that Kate wanted him to stay. He showered, dressed and roared off on his motorcycle, leaving Kate pouting in her bed.

Now he was late for his breakfast date with Melanie. His head was still clouded with wine, and his judgment was hazy. He gunned the motorcycle as he sped down the straightaway. The curve came up faster than he anticipated.

Too fast, the motorcycle entered the curve. Its rubber tires clawed at the loose gravel. The bike left the road, vaulted the ditch and slammed into a massive oak tree. A flock of crows resting in the tree were startled into flight by the impact, crying "caw, caw, caw," as they flew off. Centrifugal force flung Bernie into a woven wire fence, which was nailed to the base of the tree. A honeysuckle vine covered the fence, bright with yellow blooms. It hummed with bees gathering the nectar. He fell at the base of the fence. His blood flowed, enriching the fragrant green grass beneath him. He was conscious only of pain. Blackness swallowed his last vision of the blue summer sky.

Bernie opened his eyes. He raised his head and glanced around at an unfamiliar room. Why was everything so tall? He realized that he was lying on a pillow in a box on the floor. He looked down at his hands. Instead of hands he saw furry little white paws.

"Strange," he said. But what he heard was "Arf."

A heavy set woman wearing a brightly flowered dress entered the room. The crow's feet around her eyes betrayed a much different age than indicated by her youthful looking blond hair.

"What's wrong, Cuddles. Is my little baby hungry?" she asked as she looked at him through eyes heavy with mascara. The air was thick with her perfume.

Cuddles? What kind of a name was that?

"Arf," he heard himself reply.

The woman left the room. Bernie could hear the sound of a cupboard door opening. The whirring sound of an electric can opener was followed by the clink of a can lid snapping open.

As he pondered his predicament, a scene which happened a few weeks earlier played through his memory.

The room above the Lester's garage smelled of cigar smoke and stale beer. Bernie was playing poker with the boys, a cigar clenched between his teeth. The cards in his hand formed the worst hand of the night, and that was an accomplishment. His rent money lay in front of Moocher. He glanced at his remaining cash, strewn on the table in front of him.

He removed the cigar from his mouth and tapped it on the ashtray, knocking loose the powdery ashes on the end.

"I'm out," he said, throwing his cards down. "This hand stinks."

"You can't quit after the cards are dealt," Moocher said. "You have to play this one out."

"I already lost my rent. If I lose this hand, the power company will shut off my electric."

"You should have thought of that before you called that last bet," Davy said.

Bernie looked at his tiny pile of cash on the table and thought about the dilapidated state of his finances. "When I die, I want to come back as some rich fat old lady's dog," he said. "Just lie around and sleep all day. Then eat chopped steak out of a silver bowl. What a life."