Big Swiss(39)

But Greta would never have said any of this shit out loud, not like this corny fool with the pit bull. The guy, late twenties, was all bundled up in a hat, scarf, coat, gloves, and cropped pants, no socks. His bony ankles were fully exposed. The effect was jarring and vaguely obscene. Sort of like the pit bull’s long, ruined nipples. The pit had clearly given birth as a puppy, probably more than once. The guy had found her in Mexico, starving in the streets, and said she’d probably have been pregnant again if he hadn’t kidnapped her and brought her to New York.

He was blathering to a woman Greta called GILF, because she could never remember her proper name, and because she was attractive, single, and over sixty. Many women in Hudson fit this description, and they all owned small white dogs. GILF’s face had been lifted, her cheeks and lips filled, and she had the body of a ballerina. Only her tits had fallen, though not far enough to discourage crop tops, which she wore with high-waisted jeans. Her white hair had tasteful pink and lavender streaks, and her dog’s fur had been carefully dyed to match. Sadly, she was known for her grandson fetish. Greta suspected she was there to seduce this clown with ankle cleavage.

“Who knows what her name was before, or if she even had a name, but I call her Jelly Roll because there’s something spongy about her,” the guy was telling GILF. “And she loves whipped cream.”

“She’s lucky to have you, hon,” GILF said.

“In Mexico, she belonged to no one and everyone. She followed me around this dirty little village for a whole month, growling at any dog that came near me. She was extremely protective of me from the start.”

Possessive, estupido, Greta wanted to say. You represented food. You were a greasy pork chop to her, and nothing more.

“Now she sleeps on a memory-foam bed,” the guy said. “She drinks filtered water. She doesn’t have to eat rotting garbage.”

“She hit the jackpot,” GILF said.

Jelly Roll seemed to want nothing to do with Gringo. She ignored him completely and became fixated on Pi?on, who was running around the meadow in zigzags, hunting for ground-dwelling quarry. Jelly Roll chased after Pi?on, literally breathing down his neck whenever he stopped moving.

“She wants to play with that dog so bad,” Gringo said. “Look at the way she’s throwing herself at him.”

“Don’t act so desperate, girl!” GILF called out.

Jelly Roll was desperate, all right, but only to assert dominance. Pi?on was too busy to notice or care, and Greta wasn’t worried. As part of his wolf identity, Pi?on respected alphas of the opposite sex.

But then Pi?on bared his teeth at Jelly Roll, his one psycho move. It made him look deranged, especially when he did it to puppies and children. His canines were looking a little brown from where Greta stood, as if he smoked cigars after dinner every night. She doubted they were having the desired effect. He waited a minute and then bared his teeth again, a little longer this time, but it seemed to only encourage Jelly Roll, as if she thought he was grinning at her. She tried mounting him from the rear. When that failed, she tried humping his head—a mistake. They faced off, lunging and snarling, and then quickly transformed into a roving dog tornado. It was hard to tell who was winning or how bad it was. Luckily, it was over in ten seconds.

Or was it? They’d stopped moving, but Jelly Roll was on top of Pi?on, pinning him to the ground with her humongous face. Pi?on kicked his legs frantically, trying to get out of the hold, but she had him firmly by the neck.

“Grab your dog,” Greta said to Gringo.

“Give it a minute,” he said. “They’ll work it out.”

“No,” Greta said. “They won’t.”

Pi?on was wheezing. His eyes kept rolling around, looking for Greta.

“Grab your dog,” Greta repeated.

Gringo frowned. “Jelly!” he yelled. “Off! Off!”

Jelly didn’t budge. Pi?on’s paws were twitching like they did when he was dreaming.

“Jelly, drop it!”

“Does she know English?” Greta asked.

Gringo gave her a haughty look, as if she’d said something racist. Jelly was making a disturbing guttural noise.

“Get your dog off my dog,” Greta snapped. “Right now.”

He whacked the top of Jelly’s head with an open hand. “Jelly! Let go! Leave it!”

“Are you joking? Punch her in the nose. Hurry the fuck up.”

“She’s not a shark,” Gringo said, exasperated.

“You want me to do it?” Greta said. “He can’t breathe.”

A woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere; grabbed Jelly by her hind legs; and lifted her completely off the ground. Greta had never seen anything like it. Pi?on rolled to his feet and coughed. Then they all just stood there, staring at the woman, who continued holding Jelly upside down until Jelly stopped struggling and seemed to relax, which took about three seconds, and then the woman very gingerly placed Jelly’s back feet on the ground and gave her a pat on the ass.

“Sit,” the woman said.

Jelly sat. The woman removed a treat from her pocket and showed it to Jelly, who immediately lunged for it.

“Wait,” the woman said sharply.

Jelly waited, staring directly into the woman’s eyes, as if she’d known this woman all her life and was tuned into her every wish. When the woman finally tossed the treat, Jelly swallowed it without chewing and gazed at the woman adoringly.