Duffy to the Rescue

By Tom Schreck

The new Duffy Dombrowski Mysteries short story collection with Basset Hound rescue stories, hound essays and...

The world famous Basset haiku, actually Bassetku from Ginny Tata-Phillips.

Also featuring the novella "Planter's Punch" with JA Konrath. See how Duffy and Jack Daniels, get together, right some wrongs and just maybe...well, you'll have to read it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Schreck
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011

Book preview

Foreword

This is a love letter.

A long one.

Let me explain.

The night I met my wife, Sue, we had a conversation about her seven cats. She told me how cats love you back and how they each have their own personality. Me, being the psychology professor that I am, told her that animals do not have language and therefore don’t have rational thought and are incapable of love.

Yeah, I know.

I fell in love with Sue and we got married. Some of her boarder cats were adopted and two passed away during our courtship but three made it through to our wedding.

It was an adjustment.

My wife sometimes will state something that becomes an immutable fact. She is the least pushy person in the world—almost to a fault but there’s this one thing she does. In this case, after about a year of marriage she declared:

I reserve the right to get a dog. I said no dogs and told her that she couldn’t just state that as a fact.

Sue did not waiver and stood behind her declaration like it was We prove that these truths be self evident…. or something like that. Foolishly, I tried to dispute her statement, which had become ingrained in her.

Sue’s Dad and step-mom run a shelter and one day showed up with a cat and a Basset Hound named Buddy. I think I had let it slip that of all dog breeds, the Basset Hound, was the most appealing to me. I don’t know if I said that aloud, or Sue saw my Hush Puppies or the clipping about Hugo from the Arthur Miller book or if it was just Basset telepathy.

Sue said she wanted Buddy.

I said no.

The house got very quiet.

For a week.

That Monday Sue came home from teaching sixth grade and presented me with 25 hand written letters from her students on why Buddy should be allowed in. Sue told me he didn’t bark, he’d just lay around and he was perfectly housebroken.

By Saturday of the next week it dawned on me that if I ever wanted to have a conversation with my wife again I should do something.

You should know that I am not without elaborate manipulation skills and I had a plan.

Sue, honey, I love you. You know I don’t want Buddy but if it’s that important to you then you can get him.

The goal—get the husband points for allowing the dog but not actually get the dog.

Genius, right?

In fifteen minutes Buddy was on my part of the couch drooling on my pillow.

Sue lied. Buddy barked—a lot. In fact, he barked every time one of us left the room. He peed in the house, especially if it rained and he wouldn’t let us sleep through the night. He was attached at the hip to Sue. My life would never be the same.

Now, I was the one who got quiet.

A week later while I was sulking in the basement trying to find some peace from all the barking Sue came down the stairs.

Through her tears she said.

I’ll bring him back today.

She turned and headed back up the stairs.

Something went through me. I didn’t know what it was but it was very, very clear. There was a voice, a feeling, hell, it might have been a spirit and it had a message.

Hey, Schreck. Stop being an asshole.

Before Sue got to the top stair, I called to her.

No! Buddy stays.

Sue didn’t say Are you sure? She didn’t hesitate. She went up the stairs and fed the new member of our family.

My wife likes to say that things happen for a reason. Shortly after we got Buddy I got a new job at Wildwood Programs, an organization that serves people with autism and other disabilities. At Wildwood, they like it when you bring your dog to work and a couple of donors endowed a pet therapy program so you could get your dog trained for free.

Buddy passed the test and he went to work with me often.

He would threaten the life of delivery men, barking like a mad dog, he stole the chief operating officers lunch and ate it, he peed on a pile of freshly delivered annual reports (my first big project of my new career) and he left a big steaming pile on the executive director’s carpet.

He also had the habit of doing something else.

He would lie down automatically when a kid came around him for belly rubs. He would lick the faces of children who would squeal or have strange involuntary movements that freak out other dogs. He would obey the commands of kids with autism like some sort of Westminster champion while still ignoring me.

The school staff told me things.

There was the teenager who never formed a relationship outside his classroom until he met Buddy who he took for wind sprints. Buddy would perk up and get nuts when he saw the kid and a bond was formed. I got to be friends with the student riding Buddy’s short-legged coattails.

There were kids who behaved in school and got their work done so they could earn a trip to visit Bud.

Buddy became the mayor of the school. Because of him I got to know students. Because of him I got to learn about people with disabilities. Adults from Wildwood would take him to nursing homes where he became a big hit. Often people with disabilities never get to be in the role of helper but with Buddy they were stars.

Buddy taught me a lot. He taught me to stop being an uptight jackass. He taught me that shoes, clothes and furniture are objects and not to be given importance when they are chewed through. He taught me that convenience, sleep and peace and quiet are overrated and that I ought to get over being so anal about them.

Buddy died too young. I swore that if I ever got my novels published I would try to tribute him. The books feature Al, a Basset Hound very similar to Bud. Since Buddy, we’ve lived with Wilbur, Agnes (a Bloodhound), Riley (a Basset Bloodhound mix) and Roxie (a Bloodhound.) Agnes, too, died too young.

When my books came out my wife and I decided to go to waddles and sell the books and give the money to the rescue groups. Then we started to auction off chances for people to get their name or their dog’s name in upcoming books. When bids started going over $1,000 I was astounded.

What astounded me more was the love, devotion and tenacity of rescue workers. These people drive across the country to save a single dog. They put themselves in harm’s way and give up all semblance of comfort to save hounds. Talk about love and commitment.

In this book you’ll read about some of these people. There’s the paralyzed Basset Hound rescued from China, there’s the Arkansas 11 saved by ABC Basset Rescue, there’s House of Puddles, a place for senior Basset Hounds—all acts of love that simply blow me away.

As for me, I am, of course, a jackass. Believing that animals can’t love and give of themselves is idiotic. I am smart enough to marry a woman infinitely more intelligent and more loving than me. I’m smart enough to make friends with hound rescue people around the country (and actually the world, now) and I am smart enough to listen to what my dogs have to say, which is Stop taking yourself so seriously. Pay attention to what’s really important. Slow down and experience the tender moments. And while you’re at it—feed me!

This book contains Duffy short stories, rescue stories, essays on hounds and the very special Haiku, or Bassetku of my friend and dog rescuer, Ginny Tata-Phillips. Ginny’s been raising money for hounds with her Haiku books for years and when I asked her to team up with me on this project she was thrilled. She’s a very cool lady—nuts, especially when it comes to hounds, but very, very cool. All of the money made from this book is going to rescue organizations—not a portion, not a percentage—all of it.

So as I said this is a love letter. It’s to Sue for using any means necessary to get Buddy. It’s to Buddy for enlightening me. It’s to everyone at Wildwood. It’s to Wilbur, Agnes, Riley and Roxie. It’s to Roxie’s namesake. It’s to the rescue people who are angels and above all, it’s to the hounds. The ones that brighten lives and the ones that will when they’re only given a chance.

—Tom

* * *

Ginny’s Intro

Several years ago, my husband was in Afghanistan with the Army Reserves and I had nothing to do but love my dogs and read. Perusing the Slobber Shoppe one day, I happened upon some mystery books by a dude who liked hounds. So I ordered them along with some other Basset Crap and, lo and behold, the books were Bassety, but not crap! I shot the author a message, letting him know how much I enjoyed his books and that I was sending them on to an Army Colonel who was missing his wife and hounds at home. Next thing I knew, Tom sent me a box of his books to send to the guys overseas and a wonderful friendship was born!

Thanks, Tom, for asking me to do Duffy To The Rescue with you and for having faith in me writing more than 17 syllables! Thanks, Tom and Sue, for making the drive to Whorelando so we could bond with hounds and cocktails.

Guess I should thank 16 year old Charles, the 10 year olds, Rudy and Duffy, 3 year old Hannah Lee Dawg, 2 year old Sweet Pete and the latest, 7 month old Bruno Giuseppe. I share my life with 6 rescued hounds and my heart with thousands.

—Ginny

* * *

Is A Basset Hound The Dog For You?

By Ginny

If you want a dog named Fifi or Snookums, a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If you want a dog you can dress up, paint its nails and carry around in a purse, a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If you want your friends and neighbors to say "Oh, we didn’t even know you had a dog" a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If your furniture has antimacassars and nary a dog hair, a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If you want to have the star of the Obedience or Agility Class, a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If your significant other is not willing to share a bed with a dog as well as with you, a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

If you want a pristine dog who never drools or slobbers, tiny nose and ears always clean and perky, then a Basset Hound may not be the dog for you.

But…if you want a Doc or a Duke, A Bruno or a Wilbur, a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If you want a dog who will tolerate a bandana…..sometimes…..a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If every visit from the UPS, Fed Ex Dude, Mailman or anyone else stupid enough to ring your doorbell is met with furious and hysterical barking, and you tell everyone you don’t need a home alarm system, then a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If every couch, bed and chair is festooned with dog hair and/or an actual dog, then a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If you are ok with your dog kinda walking on a leash, sometimes sitting when asked and coming when he feels like it, then a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If you want to curl up every night in bed with the love of your life (as well as your significant other!) then a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

If you want a dog who is all ears and all nose, all heart and soul, all drooling and slobbering and baying and making your life complete, then a Basset Hound is the dog for you!

* * *

The Duffy Series

By Tom

Duffy Dombrowski, part-time fighter and full-time social worker, was told to mind his own business and get his paper work done. But with a murdered client, a kidnapped girl, a plot to blow up Yankee Stadium and no one on his side but his Basset Hound Al, Duffy isn’t about to mind his own business.

Besides, he hates paperwork.

Meet the Main Characters of the Duffy Series

Duffy Dombrowski—Full-time social worker and part-time boxer, Duffy is always just about to get fired for blowing off his paperwork. He lives in a converted Airstream trailer, drives a 1976 Eldorado, and hangs out at AJ’s, a dive where he drinks his beloved Schlitz.

Al—A Basset Hound who flunked out of the Nation of Islam’s bomb sniffing program due to poor hygienic habits, Al shares Duffy’s life and is his nearly constant companion. Partial to cheeseburgers, naps and disobedience, Al is his own man, er, dog.

Officer Mike Kelley—Duffy’s cop friend and regular at AJ’s. A no-nonsense guy who rolls his eyes at Duffy’s exploits yet always seems to be there when he’s needed.

The Fearsome Foursome—Rocco, TC, Jerry Number One and Jerry Number Two—these guys are always at AJ’s, always engaged in inane conversation and always enjoying an adult beverage. Their debates, ranging from Arnold Ziffle, to Disney controversies to John Wayne’s impacted colon, are spirited if not of elevated intellectual pursuits.

Claudia Michelin (AKA the Michelin Woman)—Duffy’s regulation-loving, rotund boss who lives for the day she can fire Duff.

Dr. Rudy—The sweaty, stressed out friend to Duffy who’s always there to bail him out when he’s in a jam—especially if Duffy buys him something to eat.

* * *

Duffy Dombrowski

and Wilbur the Dog are both

tough guys with soft hearts.

—Ginny Tata-Phillips

* * *

The Hound Who Went Moo

By Tom

It was the guy from Fondue, TC said confidently.

What? Jerry Number One said.

"That show about karate. Fondue," TC said

I had just gotten in to AJ’s after sparring. I got hit a lot and my head had that unpleasant dull ache. Sometimes getting hit made your head kind of warm and lightly pulsating, which I kind of liked. This wasn’t one of those times.

There use to be this blind old Chinese guy and he would make the grasshopper snatch the pebbles, TC said.

That grasshopper must’ve been on steroids, Jerry Number Two managed to say in between Cosmo sips.

I held the cold Schlitz to my forehead and it felt wonderful. I debated whether to join the Foursome conversation. I always did. Their conversations often became a vortex that could suck you in and drain the intelligence right out of you.

Kung Fu, I said The fucking show was called ‘Kung Fu’ and it starred David Carradine. I probably could’ve done without the vulgar expletive but my head hurt.

You sure, Duff? TC said. That doesn’t sound right.

But a TV show named after a melted dairy product does? Rocco said. He sounded annoyed. Rocco lived life annoyed.

Nevertheless the show was cheesy, Jerry Number Two said.

Anyways, the karate guy in the show killed himself in an act of autoapixalation, TC said.

AJ’s Tavern went silent. The TV, set on Sportscenter and the loud icemaker, created the only sounds. The two Jerry’s, Rocco and AJ the bartender stared at TC.

Autopixalation. It’s when guys try to whack off by hanging themselves, TC said.

Silence.

Autoeroticism, Jerry Number Two said.

Silence.

If you hang yourself or cut off oxygen to your brain you get a really intense orgasm. The trick is stopping the asphyxiation before death.

Silence.

How freakin’ lazy can ya be? Rocco said.

Autoeroticism? I think I did that on prom night. Made a mess in my brother’s Dodge Dart, TC said.

I slid my empty in front of me and AJ replaced it. I rubbed my eyebrows with my thumb and forefinger and tried to get the visual of a pubescent TC on prom night soiling his brother’s Dodge Dart out of my head. I tried to think of Aaron Boone’s home run, Elvis’s Hawaii concert and Notre Dame beating Miami. Nothing worked.

Mooooo! The sound jarred me out of my thoughts and amazingly enough got