Sunday, June 28, 2009

Where Mark Sanford really was

It happened so quickly the distinguished gentleman in the velour jogging suit was taken completely unaware, which is exactly how Foley had planned it. He did not think it unusual that the treeing walker hound had come out of the woods next to him, probably just a stray hunting dog.

He became a little more nervous when, from the other side of the woods, a pug-pit-boxer mix joined him. They weren’t nipping at him, but they were squeezing him, as if they wanted him to trip. He yelled shoo at them, and tried to slap them, then looked up to see a Mountain Cur headed straight for him.

He tried to slow down, to stop, as he was sure the large dog would run right through him, but at the last second it jumped, hitting him in the chest, and knocking him to the ground. His head hit the ground, and the wind was knocked out of him, and when he opened his eyes there was a group of dogs standing over him.

“Take his feet and lift them,” one of the smaller dogs, a Yorkshire Terrier, said. The man was pulled along the ground by the treeing walker and Mountain Cur who lifted him a few inches off the ground on a small platform with wheels underneath. “Now everyone push!” the Terrier said.

The dogs behind him began to push him along the path, which led to a steep drop, and suddenly he was speeding down the hill and he looked up to see a large crate ahead of him and the cart crashed into it and the cage door slammed down behind him. A little Shih Tzu then began running around the cage barking.

“Good job Gracie! Good job!” the Terrier, of course, Foley, said running towards her and giving her a kiss on the head. “Teddy would be so happy to know his transportable human crate is operational.” The man tried to kick the door open but Teddy had built it like a fortress and the man was trapped.

“Let me out of here!” the man demanded. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked. Foley stood in front of the crate. “You are Governor Mark Sanford of South Carolina. I am General Foley Monster of the Tanner Brigade.”

“I am not going to be held prisoner by a bunch of talking dogs!” the trapped Governor shouted.

“Oh you are not our prisoner Governor, you’re just an unclaimed pup, stuck in a kennel, night and day, like those poor puppies in Holland Belu’s pens. You see our Mommies and Daddies have sent you e-mails, phone calls, done blogs and columns about how inhumane that kennel is, and you ignore them, so now you can find out how it is to be one of them,” Foley said calmly.

“People come running on this path all the time,” he said. “I’ll be found within the hour.”

“Oh we’re not leaving you here Governor, there’s a barn a little way in the woods, that will be our person shelter, and we’ll see if any dog wants to come by and adopt you,” Foley said.

With those words the Malatesta gang began to push the cart towards the barn. The Governor shouted and cursed like a hound dog being left at the kennel until we came to the barn. “You dogs are going to be in so much trouble,” the Governor told us. “I am going to be missed.”

“Wishbone?” Foley asked. “How long is it going to take people in South Carolina to notice their Governor is gone?”

“’Bout a week,” Wishbone said.

“But don’t worry Governor, you will only be here until a dog adopts you,” Foley said.

“Well that shouldn’t be long, I am a very sweet a lovable Governor.”

“Yes, but according to Holland Belu you have to be neutered before we let you be adopted.”

“Neutered,” the Governor said shocked. “How do you plan to do that?”

“Pepsi with hedge clippers,” Foley told her.

“What’s a Pepsi with hedge clippers?”

“You don’t want to know Governor,” Foley said then left him out in the hot sun. The Brigade spent the day in the barn, sleeping in the hay, while the Governor had no food and muddy water to drink.

As night fell he had some slop poured into his crate to eat. He thought it was disgusting, but he was so hungry he would eat anything and gobbled it up with his hands.

That night a beautiful chocolate lab came to Foley and said he would adopt the Governor. “I can’t stand to see anyone suffer like that,” the lab said.

“Well let’s go see how the Governor feels about you adopting him,” Foley said and together they walked out to the crate.

“Would you like to be adopted by this fine dog here?” Foley asked.

The Governor was at the edge of the cage, his hands excitedly scraping the side, his mouth open, panting, begging to be taken. “Just give me a nod boy,” Foley said. The Governor nodded.

“OK all we have to do is get Pepsi to do the neutering,” Foley said. The Governor went to a corner of the cage cowering.

Foley and the Lab walked back into the barn and Foley told him he was grateful because he didn’t want to leave the man there any longer. Cruelty, while easy for men, was difficult for dogs. “You just need to do one thing,” she said. “For the next six days take him around to every puppy mill and kill shelter in the state, and then, on the seventh day, tell him to hold a press conference denouncing shelters and mills everywhere.” The Lab said he would do what he could.

“There is one thing you need to do,” the Lab said, “call Pepsi off.”

Foley laughed. “Pepsi knows I was kidding,” she said.

Then they heard the Governor screaming and a beagle barking and Foley said “oh cripes,” and they ran outside to see Pepsi with the sheers in her mouth trying to castrate the Governor and it took them several minutes to get her to understand Foley had been kidding.

That morning the Lab took the leash in her mouth as Foley placed the collar around the Governor’s neck and the Lab began walking the Governor down the road. “Don’t forget, we’ll be watching for the press conference in a week,” Foley said.

The Lab looked back and nodded.

Six nights later Foley and Pocket were sitting on their balcony with dental bones in their mouths and licking a Frosty Paw when Oprah was interrupted for a press conference from Governor Mark Sanford.

“Here we go,” Foley said excitedly. “Ready to put down puppy mills and kill shelters.”

But that’s not what the Governor said at all. He said he was in love with someone from Argentina and had cheated on his wife with them. He then showed his love’s picture. This picture.


Foley and Pocket sat stunned. “Do you think he knows Luca’s a boy?” Pocket asked.

“Worse than that do you think he knows he’s neutered?” Foley then took a lick of her frosty paw. “Of course to Republicans it probably doesn’t matter, neutered, not neutered. Boy/girl.”

Pocket nodded. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Pocket said.

“Of course not, a person has the right to believe whatever political views they want no matter what they are,” Foley said.

“My father’s a Republican,” Pocket added.

Then a woman’s voice came from downstairs. “Foley, I don’t like where you planned to put the crooked houses for the children!” Kate yelled.

Foley groaned, then climbed under the blanket to hide while Mrs. Gosselin came looking for her.,

2 comments:

  1. Aw, Foley. Why didn't you go ahead and let Pepsi neuter the guy?

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  2. I just about had his -----------uh----thingamajig.......and you had to go and STOP me? He needs neutered. BOL!!!!!! Think of the headlines.......well maybe we shouldn't but maybe we could of auctioned it off on EBAY????????

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