Rod, Rex and Rhoda by Bob Brill

Table of Contents

Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?

Incredibly my mind seems to be slowly reknitting itself. Some hydra-like reorganization bringing old synapses back online. Long way to go, but much better here at Cindy’s place. Two beautiful women to look after me. No nookie as yet, but otherwise real easy living. Somewhere I have a life on hold, but I can’t bring it into focus, so I don’t think about it. For now this is the best I can manage in my reduced state of awareness.

Big beautiful Rhoda is constantly feeding me information about Rumex I don’t have quite enough working brain cells to absorb. In addition, moreover, furthermore and what’s more, I don’t give a damn. She wants me to walk into Rumex’s labs and run the metafallazine tests, but I don’t remember how, and besides, if they so didn’t want me messing with their operation that they derailed my identity, then what might they do if I came waltzing in there now? No thanks, I’ll just have another shot of Wild Turkey, if it’s not too much trouble.

What’s on my mind is this. Where’s Rex? Some of my cells went to Rex, some of Rex’s went to me. If we were thoroughly integrated in one body RodRex would be a lot furrier with puglike features and we’d be scaring people. I’m still mostly me, although rather mixed up and Rexified. So Rex must still be wandering the streets somewhere in a mostly Rex-like body. Unless he’s found a comfy berth like mine. I miss him. I need him. I want access to the Rod-like features I lost. And oh yes, I love the enhanced canine sensibilities I’ve gained. Want more of those.

Rhoda’s sister Cindy is an incredibly sexy woman and I’m sorely tempted, but if I let my doggy desires determine my behavior, I’ll lose my chances with Rhoda and with that I recognize that I’ve fallen in love with her. Damn. Fall is exactly the right word for it. You don’t hop, skip or jump into love, not if you’ve got your head on straight, which I don’t. You don’t think it over and decide to be in love. When I wasn’t looking, I tripped, stumbled and fell in love. Huge lifestyle shift. If I make a real effort, maybe I can snap out of it.

Rhoda is out chasing down clues to her big story. I’m alone with Cindy, who is hanging out in a terrycloth robe and dipping absentmindedly into a box of chocolates while browsing through a fashion magazine. She looks a lot like her sister, Rhoda, only blonde, but to me there’s a world of difference.

She calls herself an ecdysiast.

“You mean you’re a stripper?” says I.

She says, “Well yes, for the time being, but I prefer to think of myself as an exotic dancer preparing for an acting career.”

She volunteers part-time at a dog rescue center and she’s got two little yippy yappy dogs at home that she fusses over. She actually calls them Yippy and Yappy.

“So Cindy,” I say, as I move a little closer. “Do you think you could help me find my dog, Rex?”

“Why sure, Rod, I’d be glad to. I’ll call the Dog Rescue line and see if any pugs have come in.”

“That would be great, Cindy.”

She gets up and sashays over to the phone. She’s got a fantastic ass on her and I’m thinking, Why not? But another voice is saying, This is a test. Rhoda is measuring your fidelity index. If you score too low, there’ll be no nookie, nothing.

I learn that a pug was picked up this morning drinking out of a mud puddle in some toxic industrial wasteland.

“Just take me a minute to get dressed and we’ll go have a look.” She goes into her bedroom. If I just open the door and walk in, I could have a look myself and probably a lot more. But what if that pug is Rex? What if that poor boy has been drinking from a toxic mud puddle? I jump up and pace the carpet till Cindy comes out.

At the Dog Rescue Center fifty frightened dogs in cages are howling and barking as we come in the door. Another fifty sad and lonely dogs slumped down, too depressed to wag their tails. Don’t they realize that no one will adopt them if they don’t liven up and show some spirit?

They take us to see the new arrivals. There’s my Rex, jumping up and down as he sees me. “Rex, old pal, I’ve come to get you.” They open the cage and he comes tearing out, leaps up into my arms and licks my face. Nonstop unadulterated love. Same for me. We’re kissing shamelessly, Cindy looking on aghast. Is she feeling left out? Sorry, Cindy, but I could never give you this kind of passion. This is Rex, my canine counterpart. Mon semblable. Mon frère.

Proceed to Chapter 4...

Copyright © 2010 by Bob Brill