Bite-[H-01]-part-1-of-1_humor

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A Bite Out of Crime

Part-1-of-1

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Around 2:30 AM Saturday night. I wake up. I knew immediately that something just wasn't right, Cinnamon wasn’t sleeping beside me on the bed and I couldn't hear Brutus's snores/lip smacking from across the room. I inhaled deeply. No, I thought, it wasn’t Brutus's legendary flatulence that woke me up this time. Bleary eyed, I lift my head to look around the room. Both dogs were standing at attention in front of the closed bedroom door; ears back, hackles up, low growls rolling through the room.
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"Now what?" I sigh as I roll out of bed, slip on my favorite fuzzy pink slippers and drop my cell phone into the pocket of my jammies. With the bedroom door open, ‘the boys’ purposefully and rapidly make their way to the front of the house. I followed a little more cautiously in the dark, listening carefully and peeking around corners. When I caught up with them, the dogs were in the laundry room at the side door, again at attention and on alert. From where I was at I could see through the kitchen window to the driveway, where a dark figure is messing around the side of my car.
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”Fuck,” I thought as I clip a leash onto Brutus's collar and put Cinnamon in a down position behind me. With my hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath and throw open the door.
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"Stop! Or I'll send out the dog!" I yell at the man on the opposite side of my car. He froze and looked up at me startled. For the briefest of moments, his eyes sparkle in the darkness and then he turned and made a run for it.
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"Sic'em, Brutus!" I scream, dropping the leash.
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Unhesitatingly Brutus took off after the intruder like he was Colonel Sander's himself wearing original recipe pants. When I round the corner leading to the front of the house, I'm met with the following scene; "The Colonel" was face down, spread-eagle in the middle of my front yard with his pants and underwear around his knees. Brutus is behind him, in-between his legs with a mouthful of jeans and boxer shorts, furiously thrashing his head side to side while soon-to-be Mr. Extra Crispy is trying, unsuccessfully, to kick Brutus away.
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"Brutus! Down! Guard!" I yell, grabbing the leash.
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"Get 'em off me! Get 'em off me!" the prowler wails
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"Quit moving or you're gonna get bit!" I cautioned him.
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"Get 'em off me!"
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"Not until the cops get here!” I told him, “Now stop moving, or you’ll get bit.”

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Wisely, he froze. By now Brutus was laying in between the Colonel's legs, tail a-wagging, mouth still full of clothing and eyes fixed on the "nether regions" not six inches from his snout. All three of us are panting, not moving or saying anything for a few beats.
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"If you move, you WILL get bit.” I reminded him; “So don't move!"
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Remembering that I had my cell phone in my pocket, I pulled it out and dial 911.
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"911, what's the emergency?"
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"Mydoganicaughaburglar!" I franticly blurted out.
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"I'm sorry Ma'am, what's going on?"
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Taking a deep breath, I said, "My dog and I caught a burglar." She asks a few more clarification questions and got my address. As I snap my phone shut, the ‘Colonel’ started to struggle and tried to get up.
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"Stay down, don't move!" I yell, as Brutus still with a death grip on his jeans and gave a shake or two.
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"Can I pull up my pants?" the punk wailed.
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"Not until the cops get here, asshole!"
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At this point a couple of my neighbors come running up and ask if I need help. I look at them, look at Brutus and look at the glaringly white backside on my front lawn.
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"I think Brutus and I’ve got it under control. But thanks for asking!" looking at the fool lying in the damp grass, we all smiled and gave a little chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.
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"Actually, the cops are on their way. Could you two watch this guy and make sure he doesn't leave while I put the Brutus in the house?"
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"No problem."
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I freed Brutus from the bite and led him into the house. On my way back outside I swung around to the side of my car where the punk had been. The gas tank was open and there was a tube leading from the gas tank to one of those big green military looking gas cans. A tap on the side told me that it was half full of my gas.
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When the cops arrive, they cuff the ‘Colonel,’ pulled his pants up, read him his rights, locked him up in their squad car and took statements. Somewhere in there I got a talking to about not just calling 911 and in hindsight that probably would have been the safest thing to have done. When the cops checked up and down the street, they found at least 4 other cars whose gas tanks had obviously been tampered with. A few blocks away they found the Colonel's parked pickup with several more gas cans full of gasoline.
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By the time the cops met Brutus, he’d clamed down and was his typical, goofy self, happy as a clam that he was getting all the attention and especially the treats. We showed them how well he downs and heels and sits and salutes and I even tried to get him to do his ever-popular drooling trick, but he didn't co-operate on that one.
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Brutus got a couple of Big Mac's as a "bonus" for all his hard work yesterday, so I'm guessing that it will be his legendary flatulence that wakes me up tonight.

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The end...

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