Angus came home with a dog one day. Seeing as the Farm already had a medley of dogs of every possible shape and size, from Chihuahua to Cur, Angus figured one more wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to ask George about it and had no idea that George had already put the kibosh on more dogs, because eight was the limit for some reason. George was also deathly afraid of aggressive breeds like pit bulls, German Shepherds, and Rottweilers, and didn’t want them on the Farm, period.
Back in the day when the Mooney kids were young, a neighbor’s Rottie had pounced on J.D., knocking him to the ground. George had been terrified, but Gabriella had come marching out of the house with a loaded revolver in her hand and shot the dog point-blank in the head. “I like to kill something every day,” she would say every time she told the story, not even flinching at the recall.
Fast forward to today, and a large group was gathered around the community campfire. George was there, along with the usual gang of Geoffrey, Randy and Susan, Eva, J.D., Marissa, Chet, and a few random stragglers who came and went depending on the availability of free alcohol. Everyone had been playing “The Deadwood Game”, based on a popular TV show, to see how many times they could get away with saying the f-word before George got flustered and responded with his usual “Well fiddlesticks!”
At the Farm, where there were people, there were dogs. A motley mix of breeds was mingling amongst the group looking for handouts, and for some reason half of them were named Bella. One of them was a little Chihuahua, zipping around the fire like Mighty Mouse on crack. Also in attendance were Jim’s golden retrievers, Buddy and Bella, the pair being watched over by everybody while Jim was out for the night.
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