off the rack

I'm not proud of this, but I'll tell you anyway. my dog spot has a barbie doll that he carries with him everywhere he goes. she used to be malibu barbie, but then spot ate her splashy little lounging outfit, and now she's generic, brunette barbie, or as my girlfriend annick says, she housing project barbie. spot stole the doll from layla fernandez-villas who is five and lives two doors down. layla's mom gloria (call me glow!) hammered on my door, told me what had happened, said her daughter, her baby, was in her bedroom right now weeping hysterically. I told glow to take a deep breath, offered her some iced tea. sweet or un? she said something to me in spanish, something about my cabeza. I stayed calm. I explained that while spot was admittedly rambuntious (how could I deny the chorizo frito episode?), and while, yes, he was decidely mischievious, though I preferred the word frolicsome, and certainly he could be naughty on occasion, and granted, he is impervious to discipline, I'll give you that, glow, still he's an honorable dog, and he would never--
I heard the clicking of spot's toenails on the terrazzo and turned to see barbie dangling by her legs from spot's jaws. she was naked to the waist, her buttery body slimed with drool, her belly punctured, her arms flung above her head. he hair was perfect. I ordered spot to come. he backed away, wagged his tail. I snapped my fingers. I said, drop the doll! he shook her. glow said she didn't want the goddam doll any more--what good is it? I said, please, let's not make this any harder than it already is. spot dropped barbie on her head, dared me to reach for her. he snorted. I said, my goodness, is that the greenbergs' cat on our couch? spot looked at me, at recumbent barbie, back at me. he growled. when I reached for barbie, spot snatched her up and bounded toward the kitchen. he stopped when I refused to chase him. he woofed. had I forgotten the rules of keep away? spot hunkered down on his forelegs, barbie between his paws, his butt in the air. he lifted his brow. glow told me her husband omar would not be happy about this. omar sells discount cosmetics and knockoff perfumes out of his silver ford aerostar. he claims to be responsible for this new look where women paint their lips a conventional red and then outline them with a violet or brown. so we know he's a dangerous man. naturally, I bought layla a new doll--los alamos barbie. she wears a spiffy, starched--and discreetly revealing--lab coat, high-heeled hiking boots, and she glows in the dark.

--from johnny too bad by john dufresne