[mvisconte]

As I turned to go, WD(E) said "Hey, bud, what's your name? What can I call you?"

Our over-grown guested -- er, HOST, looked at me and said "I know your trick, boy! I seen it before. A man done give a show where he made his SOCK talk. You movin' your lips, I can tell!"

I was now a good 20 feet from WD(E) and I raised my eyebrows and pouted like a 6-year-old getting caught in a lie. "No! He can talk! WD! Say something!"

You could hear crickets that weren't there a second ago. Crickets. Always enjoy a good comedy scene. WD looked at me and wagged his tail. He grinned, and cocked his head to the right, let his tongue loll out, panting. WD looked back to our friend and wagged again and -- barked. A happy, playful bark. Whatever else you say about WD, he's the master of comic relief.

"I guess you're right, " I said to the man-mountain, "You got me. Anyway, he's viscious -- just look at him. I'm going to bed. You two play nice now. Don't make me send those mean ol' wimmin down here to kick your butt." I chuckled and returned to the craft. The situation was in good hands.

The giant shook his head and looked at WD(E) and spit on the ground. He said "I'm gwin up t' the house, an' I'm comin' back, and when I do, ain't NOBODY gwin be happy!" He turned about and

"This sock's name... wasn't Lefty, by any chance, was it?"

The shaggy brute stopped and stood his full height. His eyes grew round and he slowly turned back to WD.

WD repeated his playful high-pitched bark, and scratched himself. He noticed his tail -- still wagging -- out of the corner of his eye and started chasing it.

The Thing looke right and left in the darkness, then spun and looked behind himself, then spun back to WD. "Whut? Whut did you say?"

WD cocked his head to the left this time. Panting, he looked up-up-up into the bearded face as if concentrating on everything the (supposed) man had to say. He barked again, and sat down, still concentrating.

"Dagnabit! I'm gettin' real pur-turbed here-now!" The giant drew back his leg to kick WD and

"What's your name? I mean, I just like to know who's leg I'm biting off. We just don't take the time for the little pleasantries that make this life bearable."

It stopped in mid-kick, standing on one leg.

"And, just to be fair, I'm a meatatarian."

"Whut?"

"I eat meat. I prefer a steak, cooked to a 'T', rare of course, slathered with sauted onions -- but I'll make due with a leg, if I have to. It's always rare then. I wonder what a cooked leg would be like. I'll have to ask Cookie if he'd fix your leg."

"You AIN'T EATING MAH LEG! THIS IS JUST A TRICK!"

"Of course... of course. Yes. A trick. Dogs can't eat onions, they're poisonous in quantity. And, Cookie, er Geoff, wouldn't cook your leg. I think it would give him Kafka dreams. I'm not much of a biter, really... I prefer to reason. But, don't be fooled, I've bitten my share of fingers, snapped at legs, chomped on a couple of mailmen... oh, and licked the faces of pretty girls. You know those wimmi-- women you're so afraid of? I did them. um, I licked their faces, I mean. Let's not get too risque here. I liked it, too. The woman dressed in leather? She smells GOO-OOD! Maybe it's the leather, I don't know."

The over-all-dressed mass of flesh looked both angry and scared. Panicked would be a good word. He cast left and right, squinting into the darkness. "I KNOW YOU OUT THERE!"

A voice from the craft 30 yards away yelled back, faintly, "SHUT UP! We're TRYING to SLEEP!". And the lights went out.

Now, totally in the dark, the man's breathing quickened -- ragged, heaving breaths. "You ain't REAL, are you?"

The voice came from right beside him, down around his knees. "Now, calm down. I haven't bitten anybody in a while. And I haven't torn anyone to bits since... when was it. It's been a long time. I've mostly lost my taste for flesh (sotto voce -- and your face's not the prettyist thing around). You've nothing to worry about. Unless you... irritate me. So. Sit on down, neighbor! Let's have a chaw and chew the fat!"

The man shreaked and moved a step backwards and promptly tripped and fell with a hard thud. The obstacle pulled itself from behind the man's knees and shook himself. "You're not very light on my feet. Anyway, let's you and I rest here a bit. Oh, the 'Chaw' and 'Chew the fat'... that's how you-all talk down here, right? I don't really 'chaw' -- dogs shouldn't have chewing tobacco, but if you're got a fine $5 ceegar, I'll indulge just this once. And 'chew the fat'... that just means we talk, right? I'd hate to chew the fat of a man I haven't been introduced to before killing him."

The man whimpered and hugged himself. "Oh Lordy! Demon dog! Demon dog! Demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-demon-dog-d--" He kept repeating, faster and faster, his voice rising to a high, whimpering pitch.