"Maybe you should run on a treadmill."

Nancy looked up from her laptop. "How will that improve my ratings?"

Jacob lowered the newspaper. "How will what improve your ratings?"

"Running on a treadmill."

"I meant, instead of jogging in our neighborhood. Nance, this guy raped a woman not far from here. It's not safe."

"I'm fine. Although I wonder . . . if I was a.s.saulted I bet that would get listeners to tune me in."

"Come on in the bedroom and let's see if it works."

"Forget it, I just started my period."

"Would that prevent a rape? Wouldn't that be cool if they invented a tampon with a spike in it? That would teach these maniacs."

"Maybe I should do a week interviewing rape victims? Or I could bring in a few martial arts guys as guests . . .teach women how to defend themselves. What do you think?"

Jacob expelled a colon-reverberating belch. "Sorry."

"That's disgusting."

"It's all in the diaphragm. I could teach you. Then you could teach your listeners."

"I wish I could teach you to put the d.a.m.n toilet seat down after you pee. I almost broke my back last night."

"Hey, I said I was sorry."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. You're sorry when you track dirt in my clean house, you're sorry when you destroy the powder room hand towels, you're sorry when you leave your clothes all over the bathroom floor. And when are you going to settle up on this month's rent? Or pay for groceries again?"

"I told you, my extended hours are two weeks behind."

"It didn't stop you from playing poker Thursday night with your brother and his depraved doctor friends. How much did you lose?"

"I don't know. Not that much."

"Was it more than you spend on beer every week? Or should I say, more than I spend on your beer!"

"What about those two trees in the den?"

"It's interest only for three years!"

Jacob was about to respond when the oven timer went off. Using his sweatshirt as an oven mitt, he removed the hot tray and slid it onto the counter. "Want some?"

"G.o.d, no. What I want is more aspirin. There's another bottle in the den."

Jacob left the kitchen and searched the den -- his eyes momentarily locking on to the front cover of the Good Housekeeping magazine lying on the coffee table, the photo featuring a white foofie puppy curled up by a fireplace.

He located the aspirin by the television controller and returned to the kitchen for the first time he noticed the face of the wall clock featured a tail-wagging white Bichon.

Nancy s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle of aspirin out of his hand and staggered into the den. "The smell of that pizza's making me sick. I'm going to lie down . . . dammit!"

"What? What's wrong now?"

"The bottle's empty! Think you could run down to the store and get me some?"

"Sure. Only the NFL Pre-Game Show is coming on in ten minutes; can it wait until halftime of the Dolphins Eagles game?"

She teared up, her emotions lost in a tempest sea. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? Just once I'd love to see you make the bed, or throw your dirty clothes in the hamper. Or fold a load of laundry . . . or wash a dish!"

"Okay okay, I'll get you some aspirin . . . geez."

"Make it Advil. And a box of tampons."

"Aw, come on!"

"What's the problem?"

"I'm a man. It's embarra.s.sing."

"Tampons, not maxi-pads. Get the ones that say super-absorbent."

"All right already . . .geez." Jacob grabbed his van keys from a hook and exited through the kitchen door leading out into the garage. Why do women wait until their period comes to buy tampons? It's like waiting until you have to take a s.h.i.t to buy toilet paper.

He recalled Lana's words the day they moved in together. "Trust me, when my little sister's doubled over with menstrual cramps, you're going to need something to change Mrs. Hyde back into Dr. Jekyll."

He paused a moment to stare at the large cardboard box containing his s.e.x doll.

Yoko never needed me to buy her tampons. Or aspirin.

Or a white foofie dog.

FOOFIE.

Jacob turned into the drugstore parking lot, his nerves shot. For several minutes he listened to John Lennon sing Mind Games on his 8-track ca.s.sette deck before speed dialing his brother's cell number on his iPhone. "Vin, it's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my van, sitting in front of Walgreens. Nancy practically threw me out of the house to get her tampons and Advil. Vin, I need your advice."

"Get the extra-strength."

"I'm serious. Things have changed between us. When we first moved in together, everything was great. And now my life has changed in oh so many ways . . ."

"Douche bag, it's called the end of the honeymoon phase. You think you were just going to get endless schtuppie without the emotional baggage?"

"I just want her to stop yelling at me. Do this, do that. Why can't she put the toilet seat down?"

"You want my advice? Apologize."

"You misunderstood. She's the one yelling at me. Why would I apologize?"

"You're apologizing because G.o.d gave you a p.e.n.i.s. In the bible it's referred to as original sin. Adam bit the apple, stuck his schmeckle in Eve and man has been apologizing to women ever since, even though Eve made Adam eat the d.a.m.n apple. And by the way, if you think it's bad now just wait until you get married and Nancy pops out a few kids. You'll be buying stock in Advil."

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right to me."

"Jacob, do you want to be right or do you want to get laid twice a week."

"Yesterday we got into a fight over which way the toilet paper hangs."

"I've been married to Helen for fifteen years and I still can't get her to replace the roll so the paper hangs over the top. Sure, it used to bother me . . . that was my ego talking. Then I realized that by losing I was actually winning."

"I don't understand."

"Women's brains are wired to rule the nest; it's the natural order of the jungle. Take the lion, the King of Beasts. Who hunts for food? The lioness. Who takes care of the cubs? The lioness. You know what the male lion does all day? He lays around and licks his b.a.l.l.s. Who really wins? The male, that's who. All you need to worry about are those five days a month when the devil possesses her brain."

"Her sister, Lana warned me about those days. She told me to buy Nancy a white foofie dog. She said it would stabilize our home."

"Actually, a dog could work. Women need someone to hug and blab all their problems to. Gay men and dogs are great for that. There's a pet store on Hillsboro Boulevard not far from you. Get her the dog and by tonight she'll be licking your b.a.l.l.s."

JACOB FOUND WAGS and Purr located in a strip mall next to a kosher Chinese restaurant. A litter of kittens occupied the front window pen, enticing pa.s.sing shoppers to ooh and ahh. Inside, lined up in rows were baby cribs, each padded cell holding a different breed of puppy.

Jacob entered the store, his presence attracting the attention of a flamboyant gay man in his early forties, dressed in a sky-blue lab coat and white crocs. "Welcome to Wags and Purr. My name is Cyril and I'll be your adoption counselor. And you are?"

"Jacob."

"Well, Mister Jacob, have I got fabulous news for you. We've got kitties for sale, only twenty dollars each. That comes with a litter box and two jingle toys."

"Actually, Cyril, I'm shopping for a puppy."

"Oh, come on, kittens are fun too. Take home two and I'll toss in a bag of catnip. Slip some in your pants pocket and your new feline friends will work you like a pro." Cyril meowed, pawing his own groin.

Jacob took a step back. "That's . . . really tempting. But I'm looking for a Bichon. For my girlfriend."

"Stupid cats. I can't even give the d.a.m.n things away. Okay, Mister Jacob, wash your hands with some anti-bacterial gel and follow me."

Cyril waited for him to cleanse before leading him past two cribs of puppies to the last padded container in the row. Inside the crib, standing on its hind legs was an eight-inch-long whimpering white fur-ball of joy.

The salesman scooped up the adorable nine-week-old Bichon in both hands and cradled it to his face, allowing the puppy to lick his open mouth. "He's so cute, isn't hims?"

Jacob glanced at the price tag. "Sixteen hundred bucks? For a dog?"

"That's right, daddy. Plus you'll need a bowl and a puppy leash, and don't forget the food. Now he's had his vaccination-"

"He?"

"Yes, handsome. See, some puppies have pee-pees and some don't. This one does so we call it a he."

"What about protection?"

"I usually wear a rubber."

"I meant the dog. Can it be trained to protect my girlfriend?"

"Why? Is she in danger?"

"You know what I mean."

"Daddy, this is a Bichon not a Rottweiler. It barks at every noise and pees on the carpet, but it'll come when you call it-geezus, it sounds just like my boyfriend, Felipe. Trust me, your girlfriend will love him-women love the breed. This little brute is the last one we have left from a litter of six and they just came in on Tuesday. Let me guess . . . this is going to be a surprise."

"I'll say. She's expecting Advil."

"Okay, I have no idea what that means. Tell you what-why don't you pick out a pretty butch collar and a doggy bowl, then we'll fill out the paperwork and you can take our precious bundle of love home in a special Wags and Purr puppy box."

SAM.

It was nearly five in the afternoon by the time Jacob returned home. Shutting off the engine, he calmed his new best-friend, grabbed the cardboard box off the pa.s.senger seat, and exited the van.

Nancy was lying on the sofa. Doubled up with cramps, she had been calling her boyfriend for the last five hours, but his cell phone had been going straight to his voice mail.

Hearing Jacob key-in, she muted the television, ready to wage war. "You left five hours ago, where the h.e.l.l . . ." She sniffed the air, catching a disturbing scent coming from the front of Jacob's pants. "Oh my G.o.d. You went to a nudie bar!"

"Nudie bar? I didn't go to a-"

Her anger seething, she stood, poking her index finger against his chest. "Do you actually believe a naked woman grinding her stink all over your lap isn't cheating?"

"Oh that stink. That's not from a lap dance. I was being licked."

"Get out!"

"Nancy, it wasn't another woman . . . it's a special gift. Something Lana suggested I buy to make us a family." From behind his back he revealed the pet store box.

Nancy's demeanor changed. Cheeks flushed, tears in her eyes, she carefully opened the container . . . removing a dog bowl. "Oh my G.o.d, Jacob, oh my G.o.d . . . did you buy us a puppy?"

"Yes I did. He's in the van, waiting to meet his new mommy!"

Nancy's heart raced. Suddenly, her cramps were gone, her rage evaporated. Barefoot, still in her pajamas, she pushed past Jacob and raced out the front door. "Where is he? Where is my precious little puppy?"

She yanked open the van's side door- -and was instantly bowled over by a black, tan, and burnt-orange tornado of muscle, fur, and s...o...b..r that knocked her backwards onto the ground before a.s.saulting her with its tongue and stench.

The hundred-and-ten-pound male German Shepherd circled Nancy, barking and wagging its tail.

Jacob attempted to step between them. "Isn't he amazing? His name is Sam. He's five years old; I got him at the pound. Can you believe they were going to kill him?"

Breaking off its lick-frenzy, the dog sniffed an invisible trail to the nearest flower bed, lifted its hind leg, and pee'd.