“Hey. Hey! Hey, is she female?”
He was already on one knee, stroking Trixie full length, inspecting her build.
“She has to meet Drango. She’s perfect.”
The man whipped out his phone to show me a picture of Drango, his breeding stud.
“Es champ, no? Champ!”
“That’s not going to happen. Trixie’s fixed.”
“Why’d you do that? What for?”
“She came that way.”
“Es waste! We gotta put em together. Drango’s brother sold for $10,000. Some Japanese business guy. Balls like grapefruits, this one, eh?”
Trixie stood on her hind legs and wrapped her arms around his waist, licking him slavishly as he arranged her procurement in villainous tones.
“She lucky. Drango’s a fiend. He has his way with his bitches.”
“I can really tell that about him.”
“He champ. Next dog, you don’t fix so fast, no? You call me. We make a little money.”