A low growl of annoyance building in the rear of his throat, his paw fumbling hastily to press the power button on the remote, once again, Spuds was hit by the realization of how bad life sucked. A world filled with beer commercials featuring nothing but humans. The thought disgusted him.
Back when the commercials and merchandising were in full swing, he had been proud not to have to rely on some human to take care of him. But alone, he found himself dreading the inevitable task of trying to fill up his bowl with the sweet nectar that once made him one of the richest canines in the world. Opposable thumbs or not, he managed.
He could no longer deny his age either. His beard was turning gray. Although barely noticeable against his white coat, he knew it, and that was enough. He’d worn out his sense of smell long before, back during the endless white powder booze parties of a neon lit, and pastel colored world. The period of drinking the good stuff was long gone. He was now living the Schlitz life and the lackluster glory it entailed, in this decaying apartment.
Sheila, his b***h, had left him several years ago, taking the five pups with her. He knew it must have been when he’d gone into a rage while that bloody commercial had played that’d driven her over the edge.
“Yo quero your mother, you deformed runt!” he had barked in a drunken fury.
Sheila had padded into the bedroom, tail between her legs, shutting the door behind her. When he awoke in the morning from his drunken stupor, she was gone, leaving a brief note, “arf Spuds, arrf”…
“Bah, I never should’ve shacked up with a gold digging, uptown poodle in the first place“ he thought, then sighed.
Pulling the tattered, white string, attached to the handle of the living room mini-fridge, he peered inside with a sense of horror. It was empty, just like his bank account.
Thinking with desperation about the liquor store down the street, a dark plan began to form. His teeth were sharp enough, he could still look fierce when he wanted to…He had no choice.
He shimmied his way into his red sweater, glancing back at the framed picture on the television of Sheila and the kids. Lowering his head in shame, he turned and slid through the plastic doggy door.
On the way, he began thinking of his old childhood idol and the catchphrase that had once seemed so legendary. “Take a bite out of crime". It was enough to make him slow his stride and have second thoughts.
“Sorry McGruff, this time all I really need is to take a bite out of some sour mash whiskey and a bottle of Old E, he thought, fighting off the invasive morality. He was already there.
Bursting past a customer, through the door inside, he ran up to the counter, barking and snarling fiercely, baring his canines at the balding heavy-set clerk on the other side. “Hand over the money fat man!” he growled.
“How the hell did you get in here?” he said. “Get out of here ya mutt!” the man shouted, grabbing a broom and waving it in Spuds’ direction. He ran around the counter to the door, paying little mind to Spuds, and pushed it open, gesturing in a sweeping motion with the broom for him to leave.
Seeing it was hopeless, Spuds obliged and padded sullenly out onto the street. He walked a few paces and sat down on the sidewalk. Watching the bustling traffic before him, thoughts of ending it all came, swallowing up any lingering rationale.
From the corner of his eye he saw a middle-aged man with a six-pack under one arm approaching. The salt-and-pepper haired man kneeled down in front of him, his eyes looking intently at the front of Spuds sweater.
“Budweiser huh? What are you doing out here by yourself fella?”
Spuds shook his head, unable to do anything but whimper pitifully.
“Don’t you have somewhere to go, someone to look out for you boy?” the man said, reaching down to pet the top of Spuds’ head. “Looks like you could use a bath".
The man glanced around, then down to Spuds who gazed back with a dull gleam in his eyes. “Well…why don’t you come with me, we'll get you fixed up. The man started to walk off, patting his leg for Spuds to follow.
Eyes on the six-pack, Spuds thought, “what the hell, maybe things are looking up after all.” He rose to his feet and started to follow the man in the gray suit, entertaining hopes that he was leading him to a better life and not some stupid twelve-step program.