Storiesonline.net ------- A Dog's Life by RoustWriter Copyright© 2006 by RoustWriter ------- Description: A tongue-in-cheek story of a bio-dog with a case of the perpetual hornies. Kilgore was supposed to be sent as a helper on newly-settled Vega III, but when his problem was discovered, he was scheduled for the vat, instead. Sneaking aboard the shuttle for Erma IV, he wound up at the Webley National Park - well, at least for a while. Codes: ScFi humor cons beast ------- Things had really come to a head when Miss Molly, Cristie's pet Tarantula, deciding that she was being wronged, started out on a life of her own. Cristie and her parents had been enjoying a weekend of camping in the Webley National Park, when Molly forged away and into the camp for the elderly next door. Molly wasn't your ordinary Tarantula, (is anything ordinary today?) she was the souped up version with more brains than she needed. She liked the color red and warm places, and spying Miss Gertrude's panties, settled in for the night. All was going well until Gertrude started dreaming of her younger life and slipped a hand inside her pants... But perhaps I should digress a little. You may be familiar with the planet Vega III. Oh, you remember, that's the one that the bureau couldn't get enough people to sign up for, and wound up sending in bio-dogs to help the colonists. Kilgore was slated to be one of the helpers (official title Ancillary, Bio-canine, domesticus). With a molecular bio-brain sitting alongside his useless bit of protoplasm to do his serious thinking for him, and with paw-hands capable of using any tool a human could use, he would have, indeed, been an asset to the colonists - except for one thing. The canine company had faced government cutbacks in spending, and calling on human ingenuity, had started using toy store rejects - installed by a molecular engineer with a sense of humor. Kilgore came out, not quite your average bio-canine, with a case of the perpetual hornies. After the incident with the lab assistant, Kilgore never made it to Vega III. Because of his "maladjustment", as his problem was referred to, his career as a bio-dog was scheduled to be a short one, and would have been, if he hadn't overheard them planning to kick him back into the vat. The back door will never be the same again. Sneaking aboard the shuttle for Erma IV was a piece of cake, but by the time he hit good old Erma, the closeness of his impending demise had receded from his foremost thoughts, and the hornies were back. The only "lass" in the right mood, that he could find, belonged to a well-to-do businessman's wife. About two seconds from the punch line, a disrupter beam forced Kilgore to bid the damsel an impromptu adieu. Oh well, without a bio-brain, there wouldn't have been much in the line of conversation afterward, anyway, he reasoned. After raiding garbage cans for a week, (you would be surprised at the crap that people put into those things) he decided to find a job. He didn't exactly mind the garbage can cuisine, but his bio-brain did - violently. While passing a combination campground and recreational facility, he noticed a "help wanted" sign. The manager didn't like dogs, but a watch cat wouldn't do, and he got to thinking that a bio-dog would probably do about as well as a three-hundred year old watchman. The insurance company insisted that the facility be patrolled twenty-four hours a day, but they never precisely said that it had to be done by a human watchman. He hired Kilgore without taking time to think the proposition through. Kilgore had it made. All he had to do was stroll through the park. He got three square meals a day and a hundred stellars a week. But what did a dog need? And who ever heard of a canine whorehouse? The money went under his mattress, and since he had to patrol anyway, he set out to look for more than burglars. Five thousand acres of parkland, with year-round camping for hundreds of families, provided him with the answer to his dreams. It also produced complaints. People were less than enthusiastic about Kilgore trying to make duplicates with their little darlings. Well, the Rollings' could have been a little more lax about letting Sheeba out of their sight, but nooo, every time he tried to lure her off, they screamed, "Come back here mutt!" before she was fifty feet from the camp. The little lady was obviously in need, and that old battle-ax didn't have to faint and fall in the fire anyway. Hadn't she ever seen a couple of dogs getting it on before? Hell, surely even she was young once. He still couldn't believe the way that new fabric burned. Complaint number one. The second incident, he insisted, was no more his fault than the first. He had gotten into the camper with no problem (he might as well make use of his bio-brain), and the damsel was certainly in "distress". Then, just like a female, she turned shy at the last moment and he had to chase her. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't been able to catch her until they got to the bathroom. She proved more than willing then, but the john in the camper was so small you could sit on the crapper and wash your face in the sink. Someone had cluttered the place up with all kinds of stuff, and when the radio fell in, the camper computer just had to call the fire department. It was probably the first time the silly number cruncher had a chance to feel important. Then here came the fire department roaring up with a stupid news reporter and his cute little camera. Complaint number two. Just as things start to calm down, a letter arrived from a lawyer representing some genius who decided to sue the park for the alleged illegal breeding of Mr. Huttleson's prize Doberman. Kilgore maintained that the "lady" had accosted him in his own quarters. Besides, he had no reason to believe that his had been the only exposure. Had it not been for the publicity about the camper, nobody would have thought of him at all. Then Miss Molly gets pissed and stings Gertrude, the yelling starts, the lights come on, and you guessed it - there's Kilgore and Jezebel in an intimate moment. ------- "Kilgore, this is your absolute last chance," the park manager screamed. "I don't care about ERA. You try to breed one more pet Doberman and you're fired. Got that? Kaput." "But Mr. Spearman, it wasn't exactly that way. I was just..." "This time I saw you. Don't tell me what you weren't 'exactly'. Mess up again and you'll be scavenging in garbage cans for your meals. Now get out." Sunday morning, Kilgore, depressed, decided to go for a stroll outside the park, winding up in Sunnydale. He's meandering down the street admiring a ritzy section of town when he is attacked by a Chihuahua who jumped up, bit him on the knee, and won't let go. Kilgore is standing there trying the shake the stupid little twit off his back leg without hurting the idiot too much, when its owner comes to the door. Naturally, he thinks he sees his little darling being assaulted, (Kilgore forcing his knee down the Chihuahua's throat), and cuts loose with (guess what?) a disrupter again. Kilgore's bio-brain kicks into gear, and he got out of the way, but the beam took out a tree that fell across a twenty thousand stellar Bortellesi next door. The Chihuahua is left standing in the middle of the street with a crick in his neck, looking like the letter "C" with legs. The gunfight started when the resident crawled out of his Bortellesi (he had been screwing the maid when the tree fell), and returned fire with his Handy Dandy wrist laser. By then, Kilgore was a block away and still accelerating. No one knows who ran over the Chihuahua. Kilgore made it back to the park in twenty minutes, got his money, "interviewed" Jezebel one more time, and was gone before the news hit. Even then, the only one who suspected him was the park manager, since the news report just mentioned that the first shot had allegedly been fired at a very large dog. No matter, Kilgore had had it with this planet; the people were too squeamish. He was going to try somewhere else. The next flight out was bound for Gamma IV, with six stops in between, and he found that he had saved enough money during his year with the park to travel first class. At the ticket counter, they wanted him to go in the kennel, but he was a citizen, and he had the papers to prove it. When Kilgore tried to enter the ship, the captain was called to the gangway, and the racket started all over again. The Old Man looked like he was going to have apoplexy when Kilgore showed him his citizen's papers and used better Lingual than the captain did during the conversation. The captain shouted that Kilgore would have to remain in his quarters during the entire voyage, and Kilgore threatened to sue, before permission to enter was grudgingly given. Now this was the life. That shuttle had been more like a bus than a spaceship, but the Arcturian was a first-class passenger liner. Without a tremor inside, she lifted from her cradle like the hounds of hell were after her, then warped out shortly after clearing atmosphere. Losing interest in the ever-changing swirl of colors in jump-space, Kilgore left the observation dome to explore the ship. He struck up a conversation with a petite brunette who had never seen a bio-dog before, nor even a regular dog as large as he. Deciding that he had better be on his best behavior, since there was nowhere to run in case of trouble, he refrained from making any advances toward her. Instead, he started exploring the ship. That was when he discovered his affinity for poker. When he sat down to watch a game in the lounge, he found that his bio-brain automatically kept track of every card played, and calculated probabilities of what the players had left in their hands. About 1:00 a.m. someone dropped out of the game and Kilgore offered to sit in for a hand or two. When the laughing died down, he threw his money on the table, and their greed took over. They decided (ah, what the heck) he was a citizen and all that. Might as well let him enjoy himself, and he did - but they didn't. Six hours later, he was the proud owner of ten thousand stellars, with a life expectancy of nil. He decided to eat in his room after there was almost a shoot-out when he offered to buy drinks for everyone in the lounge. The young brunette came to console him on a regular basis, but by now he had learned to be crafty; he used tape on her mouth to keep the squealing down to acceptable levels. When the pirates managed to in-phase their warp field with the Arcturian's, shorting out the field assembly generator, Kilgore was sound asleep in his bunk. The first mate and third officer were killed when they resisted the boarding, and then the raping and pillaging started. Someone snatched open Kilgore's door, but seeing only a sleeping dog, let him lie (pun intended). When his meal wasn't delivered, his belly began making noises, so Kilgore decided to risk doom and see what was in the pot. It turns out the cook was, so to speak. The pirate had never talked to a dog before, and while he was talking, Kilgore shot him, finally getting to try out his new Handy Dandy wrist-laser in the process (everyone should have one - they're great). The cook was the brunette. The rest was easy, there were only five of the raiders left. Kilgore simply walked up to them, one or two at a time, wagged his tail, said, "Woof, woof," and shot them. During the melee somebody accidentally shot the captain, but what the heck, nobody's perfect. A pirate ship had never been captured before, but she was adrift, salvage for anyone who claimed her. So what else could Kilgore do? With a first-rate cook, among other things, he set off to find his destiny at minimum warp - he wasn't in a hurry. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2006-03-25 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------