A Poodle Named Denise

The highway running from Orange County to Las Vegas is desolate. Nothing but light brown earth and bright blue skies expanding into infinity.

Jim and Judy were headed out to Vegas for one of those “rekindle the old flame” weekends that married couples take every now and again. After 27 years of marriage, Jim supposed it wasn’t such a bad idea, even if Judy’s sister had suggested it.

It’s one thing to be married to the same person day in and day out. But sitting right next to that overly familiar person in a car for six hours straight, well, that’s not for the faint of heart.

“Babe, I’m sorry but I just can’t take any more Top 40. Can we listen to Howard Stern for a bit?” asked Jim, reaching for the radio dial.

“If I wanted to hear middle-aged windbags babble about tits and boners, I would hang around your buddies at the Elks Lodge,” replied Judy.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, loosen up honey. What happened to the old party animal that I married,” said Jim, squeezing her knee.

“She had three kids and they sucked the will to live from her tired soul. I’ve got to pee really bad. Pull over at the next rest stop,” said Judy, squirming in her seat.

Jim turned the wheel and slowly pulled the car off the highway and into a parking stall.

“I hate rest stops, the bathrooms have piss all over the floor,” said Jim.

“No use complaining. It’s hot as hell in this miserable desert wasteland, so let’s make it quick,” said Judy.

There were a decent amount of cars in the parking lot, but Judy could not spy a single person.

About 100 feet ahead, between the men’s and women’s restroom, Judy spotted an old woman lying face down on the ground. The lady was wearing a light blue jogging suit with bright white running shoes. Her black leather purse was clutched in her right hand. Some of the contents had spilled onto the ground. The old woman was not moving.

Jim and Judy quickly walked toward the old woman’s limp body. There was no other person in sight.

As Judy approached the woman, she heard a low, guttural growl echoing from the men’s room. Judy stood bolt upright with her heart suddenly racing and her armpits sweating.

From the men’s room entrance stepped very slowly a bright and fluffy white patch of fur. This toy poodle had bushy, sculpted fur at the legs, head, and ears like one of those ridiculous show dogs on T.V. She also had a pink collar with a shiny silver chain dangling carefree.

As the poodle made its way toward Judy, she noticed its professionally manicured toenails. But what really caught Jim and Judy’s attention was the dark red patch of stained fur around the poodle’s mouth and snout.

The poodle slowly inched her way closer, bearing her sharp little teeth and producing the deep growl of a pitbull. When Judy moved a bit closer to the woman to check for a pulse, the poodle grunted viciously, and drool spilled from her blood red mouth.

“Don’t move toward that woman, Judy, that dog will attack you,” said Jim.

Out of the corner of Jim’s eye, he saw a young couple sprinting from the woman’s room toward their car. The poodle quickly turned its little head with a bloody snarl. The marshmallow torpedo darted toward the couple — pink toenails tap dancing across the concrete.

The couple was no match for the poodle’s speed. The man was wearing shorts, and the poodle sunk her teeth deep into his calf and barked shrilly. The man in shorts yelled profanities and kicked the poodle hard enough to make her lose interest. The couple hobbled to their car, while the poodle loyally returned to the old lady on the ground, and to Jim and Judy.

“My God, everyone must be hiding in the restrooms, scared to death of this tiny spawn of Satan,” said Judy.

They stood there motionless next to the old lady, as the poodle stood ten feet away, shifting her stare from Jim to Judy, then back to the old lady.

Jim noticed from the corner of his eye that the old lady’s feet were starting to twitch. Her eyes then started to flutter and her hands began clenching and releasing.

“She’s coming to,” said Jim.

The poodle’s entire being jolted to attention like a new Marine in boot camp and her furry ears perked up. She licked the old lady’s face over and over.

“Denise, Denise, is that you,” said the old lady. “Oh Denise, my lovey-dovey-poopy-woopy-kins.”

The old lady noticed Jim and Judy. “I must have had one of my episodes. This heat really gets to me now. I hope little Denise here didn’t scare anyone too much. She can become a bit feisty when I faint. She’s really a sweety pie, though,” said the old lady.

“We’re OK ma’am, but some other folks had a run in with your dog while you were out. Are you alright to drive?” asked Jim.

“Oh, I’m just fine, young man,” said the old lady.

Jim and Judy shuffled back to their Volvo. Judy looked back and saw the old lady holding the poodle in her arms like a woolly baby. The poodle snuggled her stained muzzle deep into the old lady’s bosom, with her tail hanging over the old lady’s arm.

The remaining victims emerged from the restrooms and stumbled their way to their cars.

“What the hell just happened,” said Jim, as he buckled his seat belt.

“An evil little pooch named Denise, now I’ve really seen it all,” said Judy.

“The loyalty of a good dog is limitless,” said Jim, as their Volvo rolled on down the highway.

J. Lender is an emerging writer, a lifelong musician, and a surfer. He lives in Southern California with his wife, their three children, and “Mr. Stripes” the hamster.