"Better. See, a lot of people don't know this about me, Rock-a-poochie, but I can talk to animals, and they talk to me. Just like G.o.d."

The furries went crazy.

"See that? Anyway, I told the farmer and his wife about my gift, and then I went outside to talk to the animals-you know, to get the inside scoop. First I spoke with the horse . . . " The woman in the pink pony outfit applauded. ". . . then I had a few words with the cow. " The man in the cow suit stood and bowed. "Last, I spoke with the sheep. " The woman in the lamb furry high-fived her boyfriend, the fox. "When I was done I came back inside to deliver the news.

"'Folks,' I said, 'I spoke to your animals . . . there's good news and bad news. I spoke to the horse, and the horse really likes you, only you recently switched from a round bit to a square bit and its hurting his gums, so you need to switch back.' The farmer looked at me, amazed.

"'Next, I spoke to your cow. The cow likes you, too, but she needs to be milked twice a day, not once.'

"'Amazing,' the farmer said.

"'Now, I spoke with the sheep . . .

"'-- hey, those sheep are liars!'"

The group burst into laughter and baaing sounds, clapping with their fur-covered paws.

Jacob bowed, the Bush dummy waved good-bye, and then he hurried off to change in the guest bedroom.

Ruby was waiting in her squirrel outfit, her thong undergarment gone. She slammed the door behind him, locking the door.

"Ruby, wait-"

"I'm tired of waiting. I want to feel your furry groin pushing up inside me."

"Really? This costume has a fly?"

"Let me show you." She reached for his dog suit.

"Ruby, I can't."

"Why not? Don't you find me attractive?"

"I do, but I have a serious girlfriend."

"You're not listening. I don't want to have s.e.x with Jacob, I want to do it doggy-style with Rock-a-poochie."

"Oh. I guess that's okay."

She reached for his furry groin. Located the velcro flap . . .

-only to be interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. "Ruby, you need to move your car, the Mayor can't get out."

"Move it for me, I'm busy!"

"Where's your keys?"

"Find my purse . . . never mind, I hid it. Just wait a second, I'll be right out." She located the thonged undergarment and snapped it around her waist and b.u.t.tocks, then turned back to Jacob. "Stay." Kneeling to his groin, she reached beneath the bed, gathered up his black dress pants, socks and shoes, then exited the bedroom.

"Jesus, Jakester, what the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

Jacob turned to face the Bush dummy, which was leaning back against a pillow. "It's okay, sir. Rock-a-poochie will give her a quickie, and then we can be on our way."

"s.h.i.t-for-brains, there is no Rock-a-poochie, there's just you and your hard-on. Now make like a dog and flee before she comes back and squirrel-f.u.c.ks you to death."

Suddenly in a full-blown panic, Jacob stuffed the Bush dummy in its case and opened the door-only to see Ruby hurrying back through the crowded hallway.

He shut the door and locked it.

Ruby tried the k.n.o.b. "Rock-a-poochie, open the door; it's Nutcracker Jones, come to lick your nuts."

"Ruby, it's me . . . Jacob. I have to get back to work. Can I please have my pants?"

"Not until you handle our unfinished business. Now open the door or I'll claw my way in."

He backed away. Searched the room. Hearing her work the lock, Jacob unlocked and opened the window. He grabbed the Bush dummy only to lose his balance in the fur shoes and fall out the open first floor window onto a hedge, taking the screen with him.

Gathering himself, still dressed in full-costume, he hurried to the company van-only to realize the keys were in his pants. "s.h.i.t . . . s.h.i.t . . . s.h.i.t . . . s.h.i.t . . . wait-there's a spare key in the glove box!"

He tried the doors-locked.

Contemplating the pa.s.senger window, he punched it-his furry paw offering nothing more than a glancing blow. Looking around, he located a painted-white round curb stone.

"Mr. President?"

"Smash it, Fido! You can fix the window a lot easier than you can fix this with Nancy."

Gripping the rock, he heaved it at the window-shattering it and setting off the alarm.

"Oh, h.e.l.l." He reached inside to unlock the pa.s.senger door as a dozen costumed figures ventured out the front of the house to check on their vehicles-scurrying back inside as a police car accelerated down the street, screeching to a halt behind the van.

Two armed cops leaped out of the squad car, aiming their weapons.

"Freeze, fur ball!"

"Paws in the air!"

"Don't shoot! It's my vehicle; I locked my keys in the glove box."

"Let's see a license and registration."

"The registration's in the glove box with the keys. My license is in my wallet, which is in my pants, which is in that house. The squirrel has it and won't give it back unless I f.u.c.k her."

The two cops looked at one another and laughed. "This is better than the guy we arrested last month for murdering his Yoko Ono s.e.x doll."

"Yeah, that was me."

"Jacob?" One of the cops pulled his dog head off, revealing the familiar sweat-laced bearded face.

"Son, I don't know whether to arrest you or party with you."

"Please guys, can you just get my wallet and clothes back from the squirrel."

They turned as Ruby approached. She had dressed into her street clothes and was carrying his clothing. "Jacob, you bad dog, you left this inside.

She handed him his stuff, kissed him on the lips, then climbed inside a black Porsche 911 parked across the street and drove away.

DRY-HUMP WEDNESDAY.

Olivia Cabot valet parked her silver Mercedes SLR McLaren at West Boca hospital, grabbed the ticket from the attendant, and marched into the visitor's lobby.

A uniformed older black man greeted her with a smile. "Morning, ma'am."

"It's afternoon. The patient's name is Cabot."

The security guard scanned his computer monitor. "I have a Truman Cabot. Room 316, Bed B."

"That's him. Any chance he died over the last hour?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." She handed him her driver's license.

The guard typed in her information and snapped her picture, which spewed out of the side of his machine as a guest pa.s.s sticker. "Take the elevators on the left and-"

Olivia pushed past him before he could finish.

SHE HAD GOTTEN the phone call two hours earlier. When the man had identified himself as the physician treating her father at West Boca hospital, her heart had raced with adrenaline.

"Ma'am, we need you to come down to the hospital and sign a few papers."

"If it's a Do Not Resuscitate order, I can give you a fax number to expedite matters."

"That won't be necessary."

"You mean he's already dead?"

"What? G.o.d, no. I'm calling because he listed you as an emergency contact."

"The emergency-was it a stroke? A heart attack?"

"It was a circ.u.mcision."

"Sorry, I didn't hear you. It sounded like you said circ.u.mcision."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is this a joke?"

"You weren't aware your father was admitted Sunday morning to have his foreskin removed?"

"You must have the wrong Cabot. My father's name is Truman; he'll be eighty-three years old on Friday."

"Truman Cabot. Born March 7, 1939."

"This is insane. Why the h.e.l.l would he be getting his d.i.c.k flap removed at his age?"

"Comfort, cleanliness, a religious conversion-it's really none of my business. But we need you to come down as soon as possible."

OLIVIA CABOT STEPPED off the elevator onto the third floor, quickly finding her way to room 316. The first bed was occupied by an older gentleman with a thick Italian accent who was receiving instructions from a Jamaican nurse from behind a partially-enclosed curtain.

"Mr. Coglioni, your colonoscopy is scheduled for three p.m. You need to finish your prep."

"Mi fa cagare!" (It makes me p.o.o.p.) "I'm setting this port-o-potty by your bed so it'll be close. Do you know how to use it?"

"Va fungool." (f.u.c.k off.) Olivia walked past the closed curtain to the next bed. Her father was sitting up, arguing with a male nurse.

"Sir, I can't discharge you until I change your bandage."

"And I told you, I don't want another man touching my Johnson! Olivia, tell him."

"I'm his step-daughter; would you give us a few minutes?" She waited until the male nurse left. "Truman, what the h.e.l.l? Have you lost your mind?"

"Ah, here we go. I told the doctor not to call you, that I already had a ride home, but did the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h listen to me? h.e.l.l, no."

"Why on earth would you get a circ.u.mcision?"

"What do you care?"

"You're eighty-two years old. What's next? Tattoos? A tongue piercing?"

"If it makes my bride-to-be happy."

"Your bride? You're getting married again?"

An explosion of diarrhea echoed from behind the drawn curtain, followed by a gag-inducing smell as Mr. Coglioni emptied his bowels into the port-o-potty.

"Hey, Luigi, do that in the G.o.ddam bathroom!"

"Shaddup and go f.u.c.k your goomah!"

"She's my daughter, not my girlfriend, you dumb guinea wop."

"Finocchio! I hope your new Jew-d.i.c.k falls off."