The Casanova of Whitfield Estates


            “Don’t bark at Princess, Honey. She’s sick.” The person speaking was Mrs. Horvaka.

She was speaking to her Boston terrier, Max. Max was feeling playful. He was barking at his “sister”, Princess, the Yorkshire terrier.

“Bark, bark!” said Max, “Bark, bark!

As it happened, Princess was feeling playful, too. She was in heat, as it happened. But she wasn’t about to bark back at Max. She wouldn’t dream of encouraging him. She found Max absolutely repulsive with his bulging eyes and his tongue always hanging out lecherously and his stubby little tail always darting left and right like an animate turd. And Princess was no snob. She found Max no more repulsive than any other bitch would. At least that was Max’s undeniable situation as far as Princess was concerned.

Max knew better though. He had no delusions of grandeur, mind you. He was no Italian greyhound and he knew it. But he was, undoubtedly and with no reservations, a Bostonian. One hundred percent canine and one hundred percent masculine. The only problem, as far as he was concerned, was his social circle. There were no sexual prospects to speak of. Princess was an incorrigible little shit. Probably a lesbian. His only other feminine contact was the aged golden retriever that lived next door. She was as dense as could be and had lost all sexual desire after her third litter of puppies. Dumb as a post and the wettest noodle ever. Max’s only kick in life was harassing Princess.

“Bark, bark!” said Max, “Bark, bark!

Mrs. Horvaka turned to me.

“If they weren’t both so damn cute,” she said, “I swear I’d drown them both.”

She scooped poor, frigid Princess into h

            “So you won’t pull weeds?” she seemed baffled.

“No Ma’am. I won’t allow them to be stigmatized. I’ll mow the whole lawn. Weeds and all. But I won’t single them out. There’s no need.”

I was trying to talk myself out of a job is what I was doing. One thing always leads to another. One day I’m doing her yard work, the next day she’s having me in for lemonade or iced tea or mint juleps and before I know it I’m in the midst of another affair that will prove embarrassing to myself and my poor, prominent parents. There’s already been three. My family name was on the lips of every man and woman at the Sara Bay Country Club. I’d sworn up and down that they were all over but I’ve secretly strung them all along.