He knew what to do. But this was the first time Freddie had ever done it. Everybody in his gang of friends had done it. Even Little Louie, he had made his first shot already. Louie had done so just three days after Jimbo had been caught. It was a dangerous sport, but the excitement was irresistible. Today was his turn to "try-or-die".
It would take all his skill and training to make it work. He had worked on technique and concentrated on accuracy. Freddie knew he needed more than courage and ability, these were qualities he possessed. It was essential to have luck. Jimbo had not been lucky. The memory made Fred shutter.
The gang would act as look-outs, making sure his quarry was isolated. It rested with him though, to make the shot when the all clear signal was given. They roamed the street looking for a subject to provide an opportunity for Freddie to prove his humanhood. He was primed, a piece of candy was nearly dissolved in his mouth. His saliva flowed freely as he hunted.
One turned the corner and the stalking began. The crew spread out, to determine if any others were around. A loud whistle signaled the okay. Freddie went in to action. Running up behind the tall figure Fred shouted, "Hey! You!" The alien overlord turned with a cat like agility despite his large bulky body. He looked at Freddie with a icy stare from the centered single eye each of the reptilian invaders had in their scaly heads.
"Go back to your own planet, throg-head!" shouted Freddie, as he jumped high as he could, hocking a real juicy one. Then he spit it out, hitting the E.T. square in it's only eye and ran like hell.
Pavlov, Pavlov... the name rang a bell with the hard boiled detective, as he doggedly followed the trail of murder and mayhem that led him to the City Pound. The chiming of the church carillon near by reminded him that it was almost his dinner time. No chance to stop for a bite now, he thought to himself, spitting into the into the street's littered gutter, hungry to finish the mystery once and for all. He'd wolf down something when he got back home. Then he remembered, Pavlov... the Russian Mafia... and bodies disappearing. Yes, the City Pound! It wasn't horse-meat they were serving the mutts, but evidence! Not Purina, but pure evil!
He would sure of it, he had sniffed the scent of fear coming from the young dogcatcher when he had questioned him. The whelp had whined before answering, then afterwards slinked off with his tail between his legs. The good looking woman who was with him was obviously a real bitch, barking at him to keep quiet, attempting to make him heal and obey. The vixen hadn't done any good. The young pup had squealed what he knew, sounding just like somebody stepped out his tail. A mystery man named the 'Jackal' had been seen around the pound in the past few weeks. This newcomer had been in a distemperate mood, the pooch-poacher provided, when he had observed Dr. Pavlov and the Doberman-faced fellow in a hushed conversation.
Again, the 'Jackal'. Who was the man known as the 'Jackal'? The question had nipped at his heels all through this entire case. It occurred to Bulldog that it might stand for Jack L. as in Jacque La Reynard, the sly fox from Quebec; or perhaps Jack Lupus a shaggy mongrel from the West Coast who had never been collared by the police. Was he hiding out here in 'Our Fair City', having gone-to-ground deep in a den of thieves and murderers? Certainlt he was involved with the intrigue at the municipal bow-wow boarding house! "No matter, when I get my paws upon him he'll finally be caged, along with the rest of his vicious pack!" the private eye growled to himself, looking up at the full moon with instinctual excitement. The game was afoot! ]
From the bloodhound unleashed by Harry Howell, published by Dog-Eared Dime Novels a division of Gumm, Shoeman and Schyster Inc., chosen as book of the month by the Crook of the Month Club.
Sorry I got carried away. I took a course in Seminary in dogma!
The Friars of the Floral Business
Some friars in a little Scottish town were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop to raise the funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, the rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. He asked his mother to go and ask the friars to get out of business. They ignored her, too. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town, to "persuade" them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd be back if they didn't close shop. Terrified, the friars did so - thereby proving that... Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.
The World's Greatest Failure
Nothing I've ever done has been successful.
I opened an origami shop, but it folded.
I had a balloon business, but I over-expanded.
I had a business making soft drinks, but it fizzled.
I tried growing an orchard, but it was fruitless.
And I failed in the pasta industry, because I didn't use my noodle.
I opened a taffy kiosk, but when things got sticky I could only stretch my supply of candy so far.
I had a bakery, Betty Crocker was my roll model, but I still couldn't make any dough.
The coffee emporium I took over, got into hot water because I didn't know beans about the business.
When I tried to sell beer, trouble was always brewing and I was finally tapped out.
I had a short career as a cook in a Chinese restaurant, but while I could talk the talk, I couldn't wok the wok.
I had too many irons in the fire when I tried cattle ranching and couldn't get any brand recognition.