June 5, 2024

DOG TRAINING THE MAFIA? - CHAPTER 1


Tucked neatly and ever so discreetly alongside US Navy Gate #122 in the Port of San Diego was a crude, little warehouse made of wood.  You really wouldn't notice this little aging warehouse among the new steel buildings busy with Navy contractors.  However, the harsh and loud train of hog motorcycles leading a semi-truck hauling a container in the midst of the night bubbled loudly by the Navy Gate, prompting its guard to watch the train drive by very carefully.  

 


Gnawing on the leg of a nice mahogany desk was a young, temperamental Doberman Pincher named Guido.  Due to the growing teeth of this spoiled puppy toppled by separation anxieties, he sought to soothe his wayward mind on anything in his sights, including a nice shiny black briefcase coincidentally on top of that mahogany desk.  Guido sniffed at the air and could smell the scent of his fur Pappa wafting from the briefcase.  


Oh, what an excellent chew toy it would make, with perfect black leather corners he could gnaw the hell out of.  Then, as Guido pulled it off the desk and landed on the floor, the briefcase popped open, revealing a nice surprise: bricks of green just waiting for more chewing fun!  With his nails, Guido dug all the green guts out of that briefcase and decorated the floor. Surely, his fur Pappa would pay more attention to him now.  Right?  



Leaving Guido to entertain himself meant he could chew and claw anything in his sight, considering the strange and smelly cage he found himself in.  But wait!  Now it was time to make room in his stomach and relieve his intestinal burdens, circling around to find the right spot.  Guido sniffed all around that warehouse office, whimpering to be let outside.  But nobody came.  So, on a lovely crisp one-hundred dollar bill, Guido pushed out from his rounded brown furry derriere not one but two heaps of horrendous smelling stool that would gratefully attract flies from miles away, give or take a few feet nonetheless.  



That smelly odor wafted through the air, right down to the crowd of rough-looking motorcycle men a few feet from the office.  One man noticed, and then another, and then another.  Dear Lord, what could that smell be?

Alfredo Fettuccine, a young and budding Mafia boss with soft Italian elite features, jumped down from the back of the semi-trailer, happy after inspecting its secret contents, and smiled, saying, "It's going to be a good Christmas!"


However, Alfredo's happiness was distracted by the scrunched-up faces of the men all around him.  

"What?  Did I do something wrong?  I mean, we had a deal right?  I have the money upstairs." 

But his younger brother, Rocco, offered a one-word answer that would turn Alfredo from a bright, happy star to a raging monster. That word turned out to be the name of his very own hellhound, "Guido."  

You see, Alfredo was used to people doing anything he wanted them to do.  He was the kind of spoiled youngster who got everything handed to him.  So, he wanted a puppy?  Well, he sure got one that wouldn't listen.  How about that for a change of scene?  

Alfredo was boiling with a hot Italian temper when he thrust the office door open, yet he was taken back by the most horrendous odor coming from Guido's excrement all over Ben Franklin bills. Then he spotted the chewed-up briefcase that was supposed to house those Ben Franklin bills and then Guido, who was sitting pretty in the middle of it all like nothing was wrong.

Alfredo didn't think but reacted out of rage, taking a 9mm silver Beretta from his side pocket and pointing it directly at Guido's nose, "I'm going to kill him."




"No," interrupted Rocco pushing the gun down and away from Guido, "He's your baby boy."

"Get a dog trainer, dude," suggested one of the motorcycle men.

"He's right," said Rocco.

"Where am I going to get a dog trainer?" asked Alfredo.

"Don't worry about it; I'll find you one."

Alfredo shook his head and glared at Guido with pain in his eyes, feeling embarrassed and hurt. "It better work," he said, and left the office to cool down.

Rocco looked at Guido and shook his head, "Guido, why you gotta crap all over Ben Franklin like that? He didn't do anything."

Guido could sense the softness in Rocco and walked up to him for attention.  Rocco bent down and looked at Guido in the eyes while scratching his ear, "I guess we should have let you go the bathroom.  No worries, but it's time you straighten the hell up, alright?  Gonna get you a dog trainer and make your pappa proud.  Alright?"

What about the money?  The motorcycle men played "Rock, Scissors, Paper," and got the loser to bag it up and wash it.  No harm, no foul because dogs will do the shaggiest of things.   




Please stay tuned for chapter 2...