Belka, Why Don't You Bark - By Hideo Furukawa Page 0,97

And you, Cabron, were holed up in the fortress with your master. You held the fort together. Your master, by the way, had had to give up on his wrestling for the time being. This meant you no longer had the pleasure of traveling from one arena to the next, going from city to city, growling and glaring at your master’s trading partners. You no longer even got taken out for walks. Someone might kidnap you and use you to get at your master. You were your master’s alter ego, so if he was going to be stuck in one place for a few months, so would you. There was a difference, though, because while your master could always bring in women from outside to satisfy his sexual urges, you didn’t have that option. No matter how horny you got. And you got very horny. You were frustrated, the frustration built up, until you wanted to explode. You noticed that bitch in the fort. That drug dog, the Labrador retriever with the firm round butt. But she gave you the cold shoulder. You, Cabron, were supposed to be a lady-killer, and yet she was ignoring you. You put the moves on her, turned on the charm, to no avail. It was worse than that: she used her police-dog training to tell you to go to hell. Buzz off, mutt! She knew how to fight—in fact, she was at least as good as your master, with his surefire moves like the Top-of-the-Head-Dog-Bite. You’d yelp and retreat, instantly. But you were still horny. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? C’MON, you pleaded. LET ME DO YOU. Again and again, you pleaded. I WON’T SPLIT AS SOON AS WE DO IT, I PROMISE, I WANT TO HAVE KIDS WITH YOU, I WANT TO MAKE YOU MY WIFE!

Uuuuuuurrrr…wooooof! you barked sadly.

It was love. Melodrama. What’s up, Cabron? your master asked, laughing. Can’t get her in bed? What the hell happened to you, stud? He didn’t even try to help. So what did you do? You followed her around, trying to make her like you. You groped for a solution to the problem. You tried hard to seem interested in the things that interested her. You didn’t see the point, but you tried. OKAY, I’LL LEARN TO DO THE SAME TRICKS!

There in that closed fortress, you poured all your energy into realizing a dream. You were absolutely determined to have sex with that bitch.

Three months later, your master was staring wide-eyed, calling his bodyguard over. “Hey! Look at that! Just look!” “What’s up, Boss?…Huh? Wait a sec, he’s…isn’t he?” “I know! It’s incredible! Cabron actually found the marijuana—just look at him, scratching the bag like that with his paws!” “Like a real police dog, huh?” “Seriously.” “He can tell the difference…that it’s not cocaine.” “Wow.” “That’s that trick magazine with the drugs in it, right? And he found them with no problem!” “Wow, he’s totally turned—” “Into a drug dog.”

Ah, the power of love. Love had helped you memorize the scents of different drugs. You taught yourself, and you made it to the more advanced stages. You could differentiate among various levels of purity, to a limited extent. Generally speaking, in order to be employed as a professional by the police or any other organization, a dog had to have started specialized training between its fourth and seventh months. Once you got to be an adult, it was too late. So the trainers said. But you proved them wrong. You, Cabron, had pulled off the impossible. It was quite a trick. All on account of love. Finally even the Labrador retriever was moved by your attentions and stopped snubbing you.

CAN WE DO IT NOW? you asked.

She proffered her rear.

In June 1975, as the siege continued, the Labrador retriever gave birth in the basement of the estate-turned-fortress. You had recognized her as your official wife, and you watched over her as she bore your puppies. It took hours, testing your powers of endurance. More than half the day, in fact. Why? Because the litter was astonishingly large. Eleven puppies, each one different from the others. Their father’s mongrel blood had shown what it could do. Your master was stunned when he saw how many pups there were. “Man, Cabron, your sperm must be like jelly, huh?” he said. “He hadn’t done it for a while, Boss,” the Samoan said. “I saw some, actually, and it was yellow, not white.” The Samoan named one of the pups.