...

There it was--plain and clear as the weather on this sunny morning in January. In the grasp of that hairy Jew's big freaking paws--oh and now we realize the sick, sick Freudian just committed--was a dog. Presumably dead, by the way it just hung there in front of him. Last time I checked a dog wouldn't let someone carry them around by the tail without some argument. Please no Marmaduke letters. George from St. Paul, MN, writes, "Our little schnauzer loves to be carried around by the tail...." "Come on," Micha commanded as she started to jog down the side of the neighbors property, along the outside of the ficus. The neighbors did not have a ficus barrier around the parameter of their property. Must not be carrying around dead dogs like this guy. In fact, this bushy barrier which was intended to give so much privacy in fact made it easier for the spying pair to look in on the house and the man without drawing attention to themselves. Micha and GS made their way down along the ficus and crouched down together directly across from Jewish Dog Guy's backyard area. Micha carefully parted some of the branches so that they could peer through and figure out what the hell he was doing. Sure enough, he was carrying around a dog by it's tail. And the dog was most definitely dead. Stiff already. However it died, it was fast--the legs were still sticking straight out like it was walking. It was a Pomeranian. The unfortunate thing's hair just hung straight down as JDG walked over to what amounted to a huge gap between his house and a raised deck and pool. His entire backyard was in fact a complex arrangements of embankments. Even though the original lot, indeed the entire state, was flat, this gentleman had both raised a portion of his backyard for the still-higher pool deck, which on the house side was connected via a raised walkway and at the back of the property came up almost right above the sea wall, against which a huge canal lazily lapped its water. The canal was so wide that the homes on the other side looked quite small and distant indeed, although to be on this canal they were surely huge mansions like this one. The rest of the backyard dipped dramatically down into this foxhole of a gap between the house and the pool deck. It was down this short but steep slope that JDG was at then present walking down with the dead Pomeranian. And it was at this time that GS saw that there were more. There were a series of hooks coming out of the side wall of the foxhole, and on several of these hooks hung dogs. All with the same stiff, ghostly way about them. Just hanging there, tied to hooks coming out the side of this guy's personal little foxhole. There was a Beagle, a Bichon Frise, a Jack Russell Terrier and a couple of mutts. It's a long story, but GS used to work at a kennel. A Beagle, a Bichon Frise, a Jack Russell Terrier and a couple of mutts. Just hanging there. Dead. Dead dogs. NTINH. It was just as GS started to realize what exactly was going on here--that JDG was really JD Killing G--when he could hear that JDKG was playing some music over his outdoor stereo system. The wind brought the sound over to the ficus--Bebel Gilberto. The sick combination made GS nauseous. Literally. He loved Bebel Gilberto. He swallowed an acrid wad of gut juice that had autonomically made its way into his mouth. It was just then that his mother, crouched down just behind his left shoulder, goes, "Pretty sick, huh?" GS was speechless. "This guy gets off hunting dogs!" She knew all along what they were going to see.