Page 8 of Shenanigans

“Yes, I know we need to get out of here.”I scrambled to my feet and took a last look at Dutch. He was still trying to pry the homeless woman off his leg.

Woof. Woof.

“You’re right. She does have a grip like a pit viper, but rabies? Nah.”

Arf?

“Pretty sure. Heel,”I called and took off across a small park.

My cellphone barked loudly. I answered it and all I heard was hysterical laughter. “It’s not funny Harry.”

My activist friend cackled, “Doolittle, you have the entire police department after you. What did you do this time?”

“Dog fighting ring,” I gasped.

Harry’s laughter died. “I’ll meet you behind the swap meet on Roosevelt.”

“Gotcha.” I did a one-eighty and dashed through the open door of a beauty shop with the dogs right behind me.

The roar of a hair dryer startled the roosters. Squawking loudly, they took flight and flew wildly around the shop.

The dogs thought it was a game and snapped at the chickens. Which frightened them even more.Baakkk!Baakkk! Baakkk! Baakkk!

The clientele shrieked loudly and ducked for cover under the shampoo bowls.

I really needed to spend more time planning my rescues. This simple recovery had gone to hell. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up in Sheriff Joe’s tent city; wearing that awful pink underwear and working on the chain gang.

A stylist grabbed a broom and swung at the roosters. “Out! Get out! Get! Out!”

This only made the situation worse. Shit and feathers rained down as the freaked-out roosters bounced off the walls, mirrors and a crystal chandelier.

A cop car, its sirens blaring, squealed to a stop in front of the beauty shop. The officer bailed out and ran toward us.

“The dogs have rabies!” I yelled.

The patrons bolted out the front door, knocking the cop on his butt.

Crap splattered my face. Ugh. “No! Bad dogs. Stop it! Right now. Sit!”

The dogs sat.

The chickens landed on the receptionist desk. Zillions of feathers floated in the air.

The cop got to his feet and pulled his gun.

No one was shooting these poor dogs. I summoned the hawk.“Get his gun.”

The hawk dove down, snagged it and flew off.

“Hey! Bring it back!” The cop yelled.

“Shit ‘em,”I commanded the chickens.

The flock of roosters took flight and pooped all over the cop and his car. Drawing his baton, the officer swung wildly at the chickens. “Go away! Get out of here! I just had it washed!”

Didn’t the idiot realize how slippery chicken crap could be?

Sure enough, not even thirty seconds later, the officer did a nice face plant on the sidewalk.Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!Chicken shit splattered his uniform.

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