Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Italian Jobs

Russell is back.  You know, the dog from the frozen tundra north?  My mother in law’s mini-doodle?  The champion barker, yapper, ball chaser, bicycle biter, fight instigator who charges other dogs and then goes over to the side and sits, watching when my idiots go charging in after him.

However Russell has been getting his lately.   Russell is having to deal with the new kids on the block.

Luigi and Vito.      

They are Italian Greyhounds, one black, one grey and they look like your basic run of the mill greyhounds – long, sleek and furtive – only shrunk down to the size of a streamlined whippet.

Russell is terrified of them.   He doesn't seem to believe they're dogs.

Hey, Luig, looka, dere’s da little creep.”
I see’m, Vito, the little bastard he’sa lookin’ at us.
Who you lookin’ at, ya little bastard, are you-a lookin’ at us?!
You think we funny lookin’ a’ somethin’?
I say we put-a the freakin’ fear a’ God in him, Vito.
You-a said it, Luig, let’sa get’m.  
You bettah run, ya little bastard!

Russell is fast but Luigi and Vito are streaks.   They don’t run, they bound as if weightless, their legs a blur.  Russell sees them coming across the field and he immediately puts his tail between his legs and bolts.  The three of them go screaming towards the hill, Russell in forth gear, Luigi and Vito hardly in second.    It’s as if the roadrunner is chasing the coyote.

“How nice.  They playing.”, says the Italian Jobs owner.

Sure they are.

That’s-a right, you little bastard – you-a better run!
We--a gonna chew-a y’ balls off, ya little bastard!
He don’t even-a got-a balls, Luigi!  
Sa-right, he’sa freakin’ fixed, Vito!
We-a gonna fix you all over again, ya little creep!
You-a go for the legs, Vitoi, I-a go for his ears.
You got it!

My doodles, Luis and Napoleon, sit smiling and panting slightly as Russell goes down in a skidding heap.  Russell has gotten them into too many fights that they’re now willing to help out.  

Vito and Luigi race around Russell, a blur, digging their own racetrack, running faster and faster.   Russell cowers, yelps and barks and Luigi and Vito immediatly freeze, staring.

What’sa mattah? 
Why-a you cryin’ like a little girl?
Aw, come on, we-a just funnin’ wid you.
Dis-a stromboni, he got-ta no sense-a humor, Vito.
Hey!  We mean-a you no harm!
Yeh!   Sniff my butt!
Luig, I think this’s-a stromboli'sa havin’ a heart attack.
Okay, okay!   We leavin’ you alone, okay?  We goin’ now.
He’sa no fun, Vito.
You can-a say that again, Luigi. 

Luigi and Vito turn and bound away, leaving Russell panting in the dust.

“They love other dogs”, says the Italian Jobs owner.


Hey, Luigi, let’s get those two fat-a, furry ones over there.
You-a got it, Vito.
Run-a, you bastards!
What a great day.

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