Prologue

FRIDAY THE 6TH

I stood there looking down at the grave, and sighed.

"Dad, I'm sorry we never got back together, after the fight. I know I should have tried harder, should have figured out some way to get back here to Nevada to apologize. Well, all I can do now, is take care of your dogs for you. Give mom a kiss and a hug for me."

A voice intruded into my private thoughts, "Mister Anderson, I'm Mark Hamilton, I want to extend my apologies to you and your family."

Turning I looked at the speaker. He was about 6'2" and around three hundred pounds. He was somewhat greasy looking, to me.

"Thanks," I responded.

"Reason I came over is, I was wondering what you are planning on doing with..."

"What? My dad is barely in the ground, and you want to know about his stuff? Get away from me, you vulture!" I snarled.

I pushed my way past him and walked to the rental car I had rented when I flew in. Looking back, I saw the man watching me as I climbed into the 2008 Taurus. I fastened the seatbelt for the drive back to the house.

Driving out into the desert, I thought of my dad and his ranch.

'Hell, what am I going to do with two thousand acres of scrubland? At least the two hundred head of cattle and thirty horses are taken care of.' I hate cows! They're why I went to MIT.' I thought as I pulled onto the ranch road and headed to the five-bedroom house.

'At least old man Peterson bought them, and got them out of my hair, ' I thought. 'Gave me a decent price for them, too.'

Pulling up beside my dad's old truck, I looked at the 1971 Ford F-100 that I had learned to drive in, so many years ago. The recent paint job looked good on the old beast. Parked beside it, was the brand new Bounty Hunter Toy Hauler my dad had bought.

Climbing out of the car I started walking towards the house when four dogs came barreling around the building. The two Rottweilers were in the lead, and came to a stop by my feet. Close behind them were two blood hounds baying up a storm.

Shaking my head, I petted each of the dogs.

I went inside, telling them, "Dinner in a few minutes."

Walking in, I tossed the keys on the end table, and looked around the 1000 square foot living room. On the walls hung several deer heads, including the six point one I had taken when I was seventeen. Going to the kitchen, I opened the thirty-five gallon trashcan, near the back door. Picking up the four-quart scoop, I dug in and filled it with dog food. I walked out the back door.

"Come on, guys and gals! Dinner time!" I said as I filled the four bowls.

I could hear thunder out in the distance.

"Going to be a storm tonight, gang. I guess you sleep inside the garage. Speaking of which, I still need to go through that crap."

Checking the water, I saw it was full. I rubbed all the dogs' heads as I went out to the large pen, and poured the rest of the dog food into the bowls, there. Looking around I didn't see Sampson or Cleo, so I closed the gate, and went back inside. Setting the pitcher down, I picked up the forty-four pound bag of dog food. I ripped the top open and dumped it in the container.

"Now, for the mothers and pups!" I said as I walked into what my dad had called the puppy room. Looking at the three pens, I shook my head again as I stood there. In the first pen was another bloodhound with seven puppies barely week old. In the second was another Rottweiler that dad had bred out as well. She had five pups, four females and a male.

The third pen housed one of the biggest damned dogs, I had ever seen: a full-blooded English Mastiff. Out in the kennel was an equally huge male that I had made friends with, yet I was still a bit wary of him. Dad's notes indicated that the female mastiff was due to have her pups in a few days.

"Dinner time, ladies," I said as I opened the two trashcans.

I scooped out a huge bowl of Purina Large Breed Puppy chow for the Mastiff and Rottweiler, while a second scoop contained Purina Healthy Morsels for the bloodhound.

Pouring the food, I checked the puppies, and saw they were doing well. The Rottie pups were now eight weeks old, and the new owners were due out tomorrow to get the four girls. I was hoping I could find someone to take the male. I needed to find home for some of these other dogs, too. Otherwise, they were going to eat me out of house and home.

After filling the water bowls, and cleaning up the puppy poop, I walked over to the sink and washed my hands. Drying my hands, I checked the folders my dad had filled out for the Rotties before his heart attack, and saw everything was ready for the new owners.

Picking up the receipt book, I was floored when I saw what he was making on the dogs. He was making twelve hundred a pup on Daisy's (the female rottie) pups, and was supposed to make a grand on the bloodhounds. Flipping the page to the one that said 'Delilah', I sat down in the chair. I stared, stunned, at the three thousand dollar price tag on her pups.

Closing the book, I set it down and sat back in the chair, I started thinking of the possibilities.

'I could make a fortune with these dogs, but do I want to be stuck here breeding dogs?'

Looking over at Delilah in her enclosure, I noticed she wasn't eating. Getting up, I walked over, and knelt by the pen.

"Delilah, are you ok?" I asked.

I swear the dog gave me the look that all pregnant females give a male that says, 'No. I'm pregnant, my feet hurt, I'm bloated. What do I look like?'

Reaching in I petted the dog, and then I ran my hand down her side and she whined. "Ah shit? What's wrong girl?" I said as I petted her.

Getting up I walked over to the phone and picked it up. I had noticed one of the buttons was programmed for a Doctor Candles. Pressing it, I waited for it to be picked up on the other end.

"This is Doctor Candles' Office, how may I help you?" came a voice as soon as it was picked up.

"Hi, this is James Anderson. My dad had this number programmed into the phone, and..."

"Oh, hello, Mister Anderson. This is Charlene Candles. I was sorry to hear about your father. What can I do for you?"

"Thank you. The reason I called is, I think there is something wrong with one of my dad's dogs. Could I get the vet to come out? I don't want to move her if I can help it."

"Which dog is it?" Charlene asked as I heard the typing of keys.

"It's Delilah, she's down on her side and won't eat," I said as I watched the dog lay there panting.

"Have you taken her temperature?"

"Umm! How do I do that?" I said as I looked around for a thermometer. Opening the drawers on the desk, I looked for one but couldn't find it.

"Go over to the cabinet to your left. Open the top drawer, you will find a white device about five inches long. Carefully place it in her ear for ten seconds while you hold the button down."

Going to the cabinet, I opened it, and looked inside and found the device. Opening it up, I was surprised it was like a baby's thermometer. It came on as I bent into the pen and inserted it into the dog's ear and pressed the button. Counting to twenty, I pulled it out and read the temperature, "It says 98 degrees."

"Good, she's in labor. Does she seem to be in stress?"

"In stress? How would I know," I snapped as I looked at the dog.

"Mister Anderson, that was uncalled for. Now I am trying to help."

"I'm sorry but I don't know shit about what I'm doing with dogs. I can help a cow or horse. Is this the same? Do I need to reach up inside her?"

"DON'T YOU DARE! I will get my mom! We'll be on the way out there in fifteen minutes. Just watch her!"

The phone went dead. I looked at it in surprise, and hung the instrument up. Setting the phone down, I walked back into the kitchen.

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