He ran into the glass door. He left a huge

He ran into the glass door. He left a huge greasy nose print. His pastor was inside stroking the dog with a Hair Pick. He was trying to fluffen up

the dog's matted fur to hide his embarrassment. This always happened when he visited Mrs. Eloise for fellowship. She always wanted to kneel at his feet and pray in those low cut

terry cloth tube tops. "That's classy," he thought to himself each time she did it. "She must shop at the fancy new Kmart out by the Interstate." He'd scratch himself, hoping she

would notice. She liked watching men scratch themselves, and Bill knew it. Betty's tight, terry cloth tube top heaved. She HAD noticed. Bill was in for a

good time with that bitch. Ordinarily he didn't go for clothed poodles, but being the kennel stud meant making exceptions now and then. The coquettish growl was all the

more menacing as it came from above. The poodles scattered like a row of fallen skittles and there he stood. A quivering, petrified kennel stud. Only one thing for it

A big fat victory cigar. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed scattered poodles and it surely wouldn't be the last. So he grabbed the girl by the back of her head

"Narcissistic Sassafras" despite his terrible lisp. But he overcame that obstacle with flying colors, and the dictator put on the best damn puppet show those poodles had ever seen.

It was pandemonium. Unable to control themselves the poodles frolicked into the street. We never forgot that summer, "The Summer of Puppies"