My dog Jim went to church
13 FEB 2024
∙ PAID
You know those dogs who look like they’re smarter than people? Jim is one.
He might be a cross between a Border Collie and a German Shepherd. Just a guess.
A local doctor suggested I have a DNA test done to find out. Jim wasn’t interested.
We were sitting outside on the porch looking at the moon one night and he said, “I like that little church down the road. I’m thinking about going there some Sunday.”
“Have fun,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “You’re allergic.”
“I was once arrested in New York for interrupting a minister during his sermon.”
“Really. You never told me that before.”
“It was around Christmas time. He kept mentioning gifts. But he never said anything about the gifts of the Magi. I reminded him of the story.”
“How long were you in jail?”
“I wasn’t. My bookie came down to the station and the cops released me.”
“Your bookie?”
“He’s also a lawyer. He used to handle football action for a lot of Manhattan cops.”
A few weeks later, Jim went to Sunday service.
When he came back, he said, “These people know what they’re doing.”
“What are they doing?”
“They have a chorus. They sing. That’s how they pray. Through glorification. They’re also against vaccination.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
“They don’t broadcast it. I overheard a few conversations. But now it looks like they’re going to court. The school board is demanding their kids get shots.”
Jim had a look in his eye.
“You’re planning something?” I said.
“I’m talking with your wolf friend, Benny. He and his buddies and I are considering a little op.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Don’t worry. We’re just going to terrorize the school board.”
“How?”
“You’ll see.”
A week later, I saw. Late at night, I was sitting in my car on the street across from Bud Neely’s house. Bud was the chairman of the school board. He owned a restaurant in town near the hospital. He served breakfasts and lunches to the staff.
Holding a big flashlight, Bud was standing on his lawn in his bathrobe looking around. A minute ago, Benny had let go with a long wail, bringing Bud out of the house.
Before he knew it, Bud was surrounded by a pack of snarling wolves.
Jim was sitting next to me in the car. He said, “Tomorrow, Bud will find an anonymous letter in his mailbox. Telling him to back off on mandatory vaccinations. It’ll be signed, THE CREATURES FROM THE WOODS.”
“What letter?”
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