This Dog's A Bitch

         Just one look and you know this is a typical rich, white girl, with designer clothes, hands that have never touched household cleaners or folded laundry. She didn't ask for anything, she actually expected to never have to ask. All of her needs should be anticipated and met.

         She walked into my office stated her problem, as if giving me a chore. "Dalton is dead. My next dog simply must be more resilient."

          "Miss Alder, you cannot carry a dog around to nightclubs and amuse yourself feeding it alcohol," I explained. "Doctor", she smiled, "I will need my puppy by six this evening. There is so much I still need done, and if I don't see to it, it will be incorrect." She seemed to actually look down her nose at me, even though she was barely five feet tall. She spun to leave, and I grabbed her arm.

         She whipped her horses; I have had to put two of them down. Dalton was her fourth dog in less than three years. Marissa Alder was a death sentence to animals.

         The police found her car near Riverside Park. Her body was found in the woods nearby. It had been torn by some sort of large animal. They were at a loss to explain it. Of course, I know who did it. Many a veterinarian has a special patient who could do such damage, especially on a night with a full moon.