The Dogfather

league embroidered across the back.
    The dogs and I came to a halt. Only then did I notice that the limo had pulled over under a street light and that Alley Oop was taking advantage of the illumination to peer at Rowdy, Kimi, and me through narrowed and depthlessly stupid eyes. These are show dogs, so they’re used to being scrutinized. They love it. And even if I didn’t show my dogs, they’d still get stared at because they’re big, wolflike, and show-offy, so our neighborhood strolls are punctuated by dog-admiration pauses. But I do show my dogs. I’d be a fool not to. They’re gorgeous. Anyway, Rowdy and Kimi have been trained to gait beautifully and to pose handsomely before American Kennel Club judges, which was more or less what they were doing right now, free-stacking rather than wiggling all over, hurling themselves onto the ground, and rolling onto their backs in the hope of tummy rubs, the way they did in sidewalk mode. The dogs showed not a trace of their rare and subtle response to a perceived threat to their beloved biped companion, which in Kimi’s case consisted of sitting vigilantly at my side and in Rowdy’s, of transforming himself into a furry brick wall by stationing himself between me and the potential aggressor. Indeed, the only participant in the encounter who demonstrated unusual behavior was the colossal man: His gaze took in both my dogs and me.
    Having evidently reached some decision about the three of us, the hulk turned back toward the limo door, which had remained ajar, and uttered an affirmative grunt. As I was trying to remember whether Neanderthals were believed capable of language, the limo’s rear door opened, and out stepped a second man. He was shorter than the first and strikingly narrow, with sloping shoulders, a stretched out neck, an ax-shaped head, dark hair, and a prominent widow’s peak.
    He jabbed a hand in my direction, then pointed an extraordinarily elongated index finger toward the interior of the limousine. Leaving no question about the language capacity of vampires, he said, “The boss wants to see you.” His voice was adenoidal and squeaky, but unlike movie mobsters, he pronounced the and to in ordinary fashion instead of reducing the words to duh.
    “The boss,” I echoed. Pointing a normal-size index finger at my big dogs, I said, “Around here, the boss means me.” Then I stalled for time. Concord Avenue is not only a busy street, but my street, and in this academic community of sensible vehicles, the limo stood out like a raven among house sparrows. With luck, my next-door neighbor Kevin Dennehy would drive by. If he did, he’d notice the limo, the dogs, and me. Kevin is a Cambridge police lieutenant. He notices everything, wonders what’s up, and always finds out. “But I take it that you mean someone other than me,” I prattled. “My father might possibly see himself as someone’s boss, but probably not mine. He knows me better than that. We go back a few years. Then there’s my editor, Bonnie, but we communicate by phone and e-mail, and if Dog’s Life magazine is springing for a limo, it’s a first. So I guess you must be talking about your boss. Is that right?”
    I ran my eyes up and down Concord Avenue. Kevin Dennehy was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, while I was scanning the street, Kimi took advantage of my meandering gaze to apply her own coplike observational skills. Worse, in Kevin-like fashion, my observant Kimi acted, which is to say that one second she was standing politely on a loose lead, and the very next second, she was practically tearing my arm out of its socket by lunging through the open rear door of the limousine and into its dimly lit interior. In an apparent effort to disjoint my other arm, Rowdy hurled himself after her. Dutifully maintaining my grip on the dogs’ leashes, I flew through the air, whacked my shins, smashed my head, and tumbled into the limo and thus into a roaring dog fight. The dogs had taken over the rear seat, and I landed ignomin-iously on the floor. At the edge of my vision and consciousness, I was aware that Count Dracula and the caveman now occupied the rear-facing seat, and that the limo was moving. Still, I felt oddly buoyed by the need to deal with an immediate problem that I knew how to resolve. Sure, we’d been shanghaied, but so what? I knew how to break up the fight and could probably restore peace without getting bitten.
    Rowdy, my male, and the larger of the two dogs, had