HOW TO TRAIN A WILD PUPPY DOG NAMED MANLEY: A novel: New Edition. Based on some real-life events

By E Lloyd Kelly

How to Train a Wild Puppy Dog Named Manley is a Jamaican-yardy, hardcore romance novel, packed full of wry humor, metaphoric terms, ambiguity, and innuendos, for your reading pleasure.

Libby Dahoust is a spectacularly beautiful girl of East Indian origin and a medical student at McGill University. And Manley? Manley Jaxtan Woodhardt is an

• Language: English
• Publisher: E Lloyd Kelly
• Release date: Nov 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781998179053

E Lloyd Kelly

E Lloyd Kelly is an Author, poet, and blogger. Born in Jamaica, West Indies, to Raglan and Alma Kelly. Now resides in Montreal Quebec where (when not writing,) he drives a shuttle bus between campuses at McGill University

Book preview

Chapter One

Catch a Sneaky, Peaky Puppy in Action.

I think I'm beginning to like my mother's side of the family just a little too much now, for my good. Yes. My physician was right, the good doctor had diagnosed that I had a severe case of swelling skin syndrome. And then, he prescribed for me, or at least he'd suggested some random remedies. Which was to have included me jumping off of it, or into the deep end of something. What it was I can't quite remember. I think it was into the deep end of some ice-cold water, or something like that. I particularly liked the deep part of the whole thing though, if nothing else.

…

Monday, August 6th, 2012. Downtown Montreal Quebec. Still have twenty minutes to go before I'm done with this job and move on to the next. She needs to get her welding done. And? I've been putting off the oil change thing for way too long too. Even a rickety old car needs its regular oil change, right?

So, there I was, still reeling from the loss of my marriage to Aylene and flogging myself black and blue for having gone so badly off-track in that arena. Life had suddenly begun to shine a light of hope in my direction again. My business was taking off. I was, like, doing okay at the self-improvement thing one might say. But old habits tend to die hard, so there I was. Back down the road which leads right back to the lifestyle of my teenage past. Back to my old ways, back to my old puppy dog ways. Messing around with a girl I didn't know all that well, didn't like, and sure, as hell, didn't want. But she did have something that I really wanted back then, and badly so.

On the way there, I stopped at the Caribbean Kitchen restaurant to grab myself a bite to eat. I have to get her something special too. I knew she liked Roti, so I picked up two, one for her, and the other for me. I also grabbed two drinks, a soft one and a hard one. The soft one was for her, the hard one for me. One can't have Roti without something cool and refreshing to go down with it. Can he? Like, something to wash it down. I needed something long and strong. She needed the something long. that's why I was going there. I needed the strong one, the drink that is. It was a rather hard day at work that particular day but whenever she calls, I run to her. She said she was bored. Which is always a code word for me to get there and get there fast.

I've got the excitement that you need, I'd said in response, And I'm coming to you, babe. With wings on my feet.

She was at work at the time, if one could call that sort of thing work. She was babysitting the kid, right at that moment when she'd called me. She was damn nearly asleep too, lying there on the couch. The baby was sleeping alright, and she? She was lying there alongside the baby half asleep herself. Some kind of work. She did wake up well enough to open up the door and let me in when I got there. She was mighty happy to have the Roti and drink too. All of the red-eyed sleepy-look quickly dissipated into a wide wake and alerted Miss Mira. Name-calling me: sweetheart, darling baby. My sweetheart, my darling baby.

Even if it's only in her delusional, demented way of thinking. If while doing all that, it leads to getting me what I want? I can be anything.

Meanwhile, I was quick in getting in and out of the shower. I had to go and freshen up after the hard day at work before moving on to the next stage. She was slightly hunched over the washbasin in the bathroom as I stepped out of the shower. She was brushing her teeth. I walked up behind her and kissed her neck. Her plaited dirty brown hair was tied up in a ponytail there. Of course, it was her hair. She bought it so it was hers. No?

My ready and willing hand reached down and around her waist. Sliding smoothly over her silky-smooth chocolate brown skin and then back up to cup the plumb, warm begging mammary bulbs. Caressing them with even, purposeful strokes. Man, what a luscious load. What! If I love them? Course I do.

My thumb and forefinger meanwhile were concentrating on the nippled spouts. The bathrobe was very cooperative too, would have slid off her shoulder and tumbled to the floor at her feet. She turned around and cupped my face in her hands, she kissed me. I went to work on those lips before she, Ms. Mira, pushed my head down where the hand was busily working moments before. Now the right hand is gripping hard at the cheeks, the other cheeks. While pulling her up and in towards the real hard facts of the matter. Ugh, hmm, she grunted, as she pulled slightly away.

Let's go into my room, she said…

Your room? Sure. This may be the place where you crash and hang out whenever you're on the job, but this is not your room. This is the house and home of your mistress, your employer, your boss. So, neither of us should be in this room, or any other room here in this house, not you, not me for that matter. None of us. Until that day when we bought and owned the damn crib. Of course, I didn't say any of that to her. Not then, not ever. This was just a little best-buddy exchange between Bubbles and me. There was too much urgency in the task at hand for me to be thinking of anything beyond the obvious.

Come on, I said, let's not spoil this babe. The bathrobe on the bathroom floor will suffice."

She took hold of one of the many strong limbs hanging off this hunk of a strong tree and dragged me into the bedroom. Both of us butt-naked and heated up to a fever pitch, this waggy-tailed puppy dog willingly followed. Heck, you're the boss here, I mused within. You'll always be, in said sorts of situations.

The baby cried and gyrated her hands and feet, as she rolled over and sat up. All of that moaning, groaning, bumping and grinding must have woken her up prematurely. Now she's the one who needs all of the attention. She most certainly needed it more than me at this point, and sweet and kind Miss Mira is not known to be withholding much-needed pleasure from anyone. Not from me, and certainly not from a crying baby. She picked the baby up and brought her right there in the bed with us, after filling out the tiny hands with the coveted prize, the bottle of warmed-up mother's breast milk. The kid seemed much more interested in figuring me out though. Much more so than she was to be on the task of nourishing herself with a bottled meal hanging by tiny teeth from her mouth. As she bounced and tumbled around. She just kept on twisting and turning around to stare at the stranger lying right there in the bed. The very same bed that she usually crawls all over, without ever seeing such a face as this sneaky little puppy dog's anywhere around, until now. Huh-huh, I grunted from within, I think that if I hang around this joint much longer, this kid might one day grow up calling me Papa. Hell no, I said, I'm out of here.

…

Unbeknownst to either of us, we were being watched. Yep, our every move was being monitored and recorded by a private eye. Or maybe it was a set of private eyes? Not sure but. As was to be revealed later on, we were captured and locked down in a pan. Oh, the wonders of technology. Mira called again on the following day, We're in trouble, she said, big trouble.

I want you to come upstairs right this minute Mira, Miss Kentise, (that's what Mira calls her), Mrs. Kentise had said that she wanted her upstairs right away.

Mrs. Addasa Kentise, her mistress, wanted to talk to her, and it couldn't wait. So, she picked up the baby and hopped up on the stairs. There was no subtlety to the reveal. The screenshot was the first thing that hit her eyeballs as soon as she entered the living room. A picture-perfect portrait of the man standing there in the basement sitting room, right beside the baby sleeping in the crib. There was no doubt as to who the person in the picture was, furthermore, there was no doubt as to what the purpose of the meeting with her mistress was about either. Mira swallowed hard, I'm in deep doo-doo, she said to herself.

Just a couple of quick questions for you Miss Mira, and just as quickly I'd like to get the truth from you. Who's this person in my house, standing over my sleeping baby? And why is this person here, in my house? She punctuated each word. Words would not come when she tried to respond.

I, I, I don't know, I don't know wo-wo what to say. She stuttered.

You don't know this person who's with you in my house?

Yes, she replied.

Yes-what?

Yes, I know who he is…

Then tell me, who is he? Tell me.

He's my friend, a-a, a friend of mine. His name is ma-ma, Manley.

Why was he in my house? What was he doing here?

I was alone and bored, and when Sarah went to sleep, I-I just needed someone to talk to and…

So you invited him here?

Yes - ma'am.

That'll be all for now - Mira. I'll have a lot of thinking to do before I decide on my next move. Now, get out of my face. Mira turned around and headed briskly back down the steps towards the basement apartment. She was shaking like a leaf against the rushing wind and wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. What does this mean for her? Is this going to be the end of the job? She was wondering. She never knew how much, nor was she even sure if she liked or disliked the job before this. But suddenly, she felt very scared. She didn't want to lose this job, at least not yet.

One more thing Mira. Mrs. Kentise called out to her just before she closed the door at the bottom of the staircase behind her, on the way back to the basement apartment. I need the contact information for this person, your friend. I'm going to have to talk to him too.

Okay ma'am, said Mira, closing the door. 

Chapter Two

Love to Die For 

Even though she knew that she couldn't love me, she still did want me, and I was going stone-cold out of my cotton-picking mind for wanting her too. Libby was 24. As for me, I was 34 years of age at the time. The forces on either side of this socio-divide were unrelenting. Was this a love to die for? Maybe, but then again, maybe not.

Libby Dahoust is her name, I'm Manley, Manley Jaxtan Woodhardt. I met her there in the study hall. Well, I saw her there for the very first time on the orientation evening. We were both volunteering our services there, but really, we only did meet and greet in a strange kind of way at the food counter in the pizzeria across the street at Sherbrooke Street and McGill College. She's a straight-A medical student of Indian descent. Straight shiny black hair and chocolate brown skin. And me? I'm just barely skimming my way through a course in computer programming and design. A West Indian-born dark-skinned dreadlock wanna-be at the time. My dreads were just beginning to take shape but I sure have got the physique and the good looks to work it well. Well, so they used to say in those days. I'm the quintessential West Indian man. That's what they also said. I had no reason to doubt them.

She's very shy and reserved. Or so it would have seemed at first sight to many. Including me. Her head is always in books or papers. Until I caught her eyeing me there that day. Or should I say, we were eyeing each other? I was looking at her over the pizza and coke in front of me on the table. She must have felt the burning, piercing gaze because. She looked up from the paper and flashed a quick glance and a smile my way. Then revert back to the paper before her there, on the table. The crushed-up paper plate and empty drink container that was also there on the table in front of her. Suggested to me that she had already finished her meal and was using the rest of the time there studying. Whether it was to be the papers or something else, she was, yes, studying. Every now and then she would sneak other peaks my way, until. She was either done with her studies or she had had her fill with somebody. She picked up her belongings and shook her wide-open palm in a jolly and gay little wave at me on the way out, Bye! She whispered. That's how it was to have gotten started. Think I may have ruined her studies for a brief moment there though. The only thing she seemed to be wanting to study there for a while after I walked in, was me. But…

…

What a difference a day can make sometimes. From mesmerizing eye deals on day one. To just hi, and not even so much as a goodbye the next day. On day two, she hurriedly finished off what was left of the meal she was having, and was gone before my order even came up. I watched her as she crossed the street. Mount up onto the sidewalk and continue on through the oval-shaped entry gate that leads into the park and onto the campus grounds. She never even turned to look back. She must have had some sense talked into her last night I thought to myself. Or maybe something even more sinister than that.

"One doesn't have time to look around or