Part V: Battle Royale
"I am your father." My heart skipped a beat as I considered the implications of what Blue Bull had just said to me. His fuzzy chest heaved as he sat plastered to the stone wall, his lone eye studying my face.
"Blue Bull ...," I said, carefully considering my words. "Do you take me for a fool?!?" I am an AKC-registered, pure-breed pug -- with the papers to prove it. My biological father's name is Cowboy, you infidel. How dare you besmirch his good name?"
The Blue Satan stammered, caught in yet another lie. I tore into him with my fearsome teeth, honed by a thousand chew sticks. After swinging the Bullshevik coward backward, I hurled him through the tower's eastern window. "Noooo!!!!" he cried, his voice trailing off before being silenced in a cloud of stuffing. And then, as if on cue, the dogs of Prague descended on that spot, rending Blue Bull limb from squeaking limb. Each took a bite of blue, a pinch of cotton. Souvenirs of this great moment in canine history were dispersed across the city. By the time I had reached street level, all that remained was an eye patch. And thus was completed the defenestration of Blue Bull.
"Allahu akbar!" I barked. "Allah's will be done! Now, who wants lunch?"