Chapter 10: Doggie Raid

SpringSummer

Doggie Raid

Steven Gouger wondered how things could possibly be worse. His buddy, Ronnie Del Veccio recently was forced to shoot a whole litter of pit bull puppies and he did not recover from it. Now, their team was raiding a fighting dog ranch. Dozens and dozens of canines were Ronnie's responsibility to eliminate.

Pop. Pause. Pop. Ronnie and Ronnie alone was assigned the horrid task. Pop. These were not pit bulls. They were a strain of miniature Turkish kangal that was making a mark in the New World. A fearsome stock that could look just as sad eyed and innocent as any other breed when a rifle was stuck in its face.

Steven Gouger knelt on one knee alongside the sole occupant of the house. 46-year-old Joe Hays was a small man who seemed to stylistically mimic Charles Manson. Long-haired and bearded, he wore a faded out gray T-shirt that years ago bore an insignia of The Biloxi Yacht Club. His spindly, undeveloped legs crept out from the openings of faded red shorts. Sandals made from old tires had fallen off his feet in the take down. Red, swollen feet and fungal toes twitched nervously.

It was the second hottest day of the year and Joe Hays did not own a functioning air-conditioner. It had rained briefly, but not enough to cool things off. Just enough to make things sticky. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"Please don't hurt my dogs, mister.”

"Shut up!" Steven Gouger roared above the gunshots and the droning dialogue of "Crime and Justice"coming from the flat screen a few feet away.

Pop. Pop. "Them dogs. They're my family."

Steven Gouger bit his tongue. The odors were making him nauseous. Old food. A sink full of dishes. Rotten wood. The mildew. Dog fur, dog urine, dog feces. Pop. Pop.

" Not my babies!" Joe Hays wailed.

Steven Gouger knelt beside his victim. "Shut. The fuck. Up," he whispered into his ear.

Pop. "Those are my children!"

Steven Gouger jammed his taser into Joe Hays's kidney and pressed the button.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

"You want a little more?"

Joe Hays gasped for air.

"I can't hear you," Steven Gouger whispered.

Zap!

The worst day of his life. Possibly the worst day of Ronnie's life. The whole day would have an “I can't move” nightmare quality to it. It would pass in queasy slow motion and for both men, it would kick off a new round of sleepless nights.

37 dogs were slaughtered and Steven would not escape carcass removal duties. There was a lot of hooting and cheering when a pile of cash was found under a dog house. Steven and Ronnie paused from their tasks at hand to watch wheelbarrows of money pushed into a secured truck. “Not a dollar for us,” Steven said bitterly. “Not one fucking dollar.”