Duke Barkin in Hot Houndette

Duke Barkin has a rule: Never exit the vehicle. 

A large but lean tricolor basset hound, Duke waits on the passenger seat of a faded blue and silver 1985 Suburban. Through the open windows, across the ashy parking lot, stands a Cracker Barrel sign the color of dried spray cheese. Duke’s white head and red ears frame a bored expression, and his name tag clinks faintly when he sighs.

He’s been waiting forever for The Man to finish his business in this parking lot. He’d been promised a drive: wind in his ears, the engine roaring under his belly, and the road flashing by in streaks, too fast for him to get more than a quick look into passing cars.

In the rearview mirror, The Man is employing his patented jocular voice. “Duke? Oh, he’s slowing down, but still full of drool and vinegar.”

Duke’s face twists in a quizzical expression. The Man is clearly insane. 

Then—finally—movement. The Man hefts a beige plastic crate into the back of the Suburban. Duke’s ears perk up. What’s this? he muses, eyes narrowing. We’re not at the big box store.

The Man pats the crate and chuckles. “Sorry, you’ll have to stay in there for the drive. Duke’s not a flexible kinda guy.”

Leaving the tail gate down, The Man circles around to the passenger side and opens the door, beckoning Duke out. 

Duke bristles. The Man knows the rule. 

“Come on, old man, just this once?”

Duke huffs but gives in, stepping onto the asphalt and walking around to the back of the Suburban. 

The Man grins and gestures toward the crate. “It’s our first transport!”

The fur on the back of Duke’s neck rises, and his eyes narrow.

So this was the package.

The world dissolves.

The world reforms into one with supersaturated colors and shadows black as the grave. 

Paws precisely at 10 and 2, Duke is at the wheel of an ebony BMW X5 SUV. Prada Tom Ford sunglasses shield his eyes. 

The crate is now a suspiciously wiggly softsider duffel. Duke doesn’t spare it a glance.

The BMW roars down I-4, and the interstate stretches ahead, sides blurring with speed. Old-fashioned driving goggles—once belonging to Bud, the first dog to drive across the US—hang from the rearview mirror.

Duke races ahead at speeds just under suspicion.

“Please, mister, let me out!” comes a tearful voice from the duffel.

Duke puts an arm over the back seat. “I’m sorry, sister, but you’ll have to wait. I’m on the clock.”

A pause. Then, sniffling. Whimpering.

Duke glances in the rearview mirror. “Quiet down! You’re straining my hospitality.”

The duffel shifts. “This is a new car, isn’t it, Mister?” The voice is suddenly sweet. 

Too sweet.

Duke’s ears flick. “I have a rule. Never open the package.”

“If you don’t let me out right now, it won’t smell like a new car EVER AGAIN!”

Duke’s eyes widen with fear.

Fortunately, there’s a rest stop nearby. As Duke opens the back of the BMW, the duffel bag unzips from within.

Duke checks his watch. “Don’t be slow. We have a schedule to keep.”

A sleek black head with brown-rimmed, exotically tilted eyes peers over the top. “You have a schedule, but I don’t.”

Duke remains unmoved. “Put a move on it, sister.”

A beautiful young houndette slips out of the duffel and steps out onto the asphalt.

When they reach the ladies’ room door, Duke says, “You’ve got two minutes.”

“Or what, you’ll come in after me?” 

“Not if you hurry.”

After she disappears inside, her musical voice can be heard chatting and laughing. 

“Hurry it up in there, sister!”

“I’m going as fast as a girl can, Mr. Kidnapper. And it’s Mai Daisi!”

Duke paces to the other end of the sidewalk. Just as he reaches the end of his tether, Mai Daisi ducks out unseen among a group of little girls dressed in princess costumes and heads toward the trucker parking. 

Duke checks his watch. “Where is that houndette?” Smacking the door, he swings it open. “I’m coming in!”

A chorus of screams is followed by a resounding slap. 

Duke stumbles back out, sunglasses askew, rubbing his snout. “This is what I get for breaking the rule.”

By the time he finds Mai Daisi, she is sweet-talking a pair of familiar faces, a chihuahua and a bull terrier, driving the car hauler of race car legend Sandy, “The Flash.” They open the cab door. 

Mai Daisi smiles winningly. “You guys are the best! Hey, Paco, don’t I recognize you from TV?”

“That was years ago. I wasn’t PC or DC, or something.”

“At least you weren’t put out without a can of beer to your name!” The bull terrier wipes a tear from her eye.

Duke slams the truck’s door shut with a large paw. “Not so fast.”

Mai Daisi scowls.

Duke ignores her and turns a humorless gaze on the truckers. “She’s on her way to court-ordered rehab. You don’t want to get in the way, Gidget.”

Paco protests. “I was her stunt double, man!”

Sweet Potato narrows her eyes. “Something against girls, Paco?”

“No, no! Just against BEING one!”

Whether between washed up TV stars or driver and package, relationships have their ups and downs.

As the argument escalates, Duke escorts Mai Daisi back to the BMW. “You’re ruining my schedule.”

“Well, you’re ruining my life!” she snaps and heads for the passenger door.

Duke steps into her path. “In the back.”

She smirks, marching around him. “In the front.”

He opens the back seat door. She ignores him, sliding into the front with a victorious grin.

Duke sighs, climbing into the driver’s seat. “What are you so pleased about?”

“I can see where we’re going!”

Duke pulls out onto the road. “You’re still going my way.”

She smirks, murmuring, “That’s what you think, mister.”

Mai Daisi settles in, adjusting the air vents, stereo, and visors to suit her. When she checks her makeup in the mirror, she looks very fetching. 

Duke, paws at 10 and 2, keeps his eyes on the road. The rule isn’t holding up very well, but at least the package is in the car.

Just then, Cruuunch!

Duke’s sunglasses fly up in the air and Mai Daisi gasps with surprise as she’s thrown against the seatbelt. 

When he adjusts the rearview mirror, Duke sees the grill of a jacked up truck painted to look like the teeth of a certain giant Florida reptile. “I hate tail-gators!”

Mai Daisi swivels around in her seat. “It’s Big Bob’s Gator Show and Puppy Park! I’ve got to get away! You have to let me go.”

Duke keeps his paws loose on the wheel. “Getting away is no problem. But you’re coming with me.”

Gunfire shatters the back window. Mai Daisi gasps and ducks. Duke flinches—but the scent of blood tells him it’s not just broken glass. His shoulder burns. 

“Are you hurt?” Mai asks. 

“That… would be a yes.”

The gator truck pulls alongside, a gun leveled at Mai Daisi.

Uh-oh.

The sound of a calvary-style car horn blasts out, and a low-slung, orange 1969 Dodge Charger pulls up on the other side. Legendary racer basset hound Sandy leans out, nails painted Ruby Red, flashing her signature grin. “Hit the brakes, fellas!” she calls. “Catch a ride with us!”

Duke narrows his eyes. “I hope the lady knows what she’s doing.” But he hits the brakes hard, throwing up a cloud of rubber and brake dust. The Charger and the gator truck shoot past. 

“I see another truck!” Mai Daisi points.

The race car hauler from the rest stop speeds past, ramp extended, sparks flying where it scrapes the road. Paco’s pointed ears strain forward, but he waves a casual paw as he passes. The hauler slows down and holds steady. 

“Can you do it, Duke?”

Duke’s lips twitch into a sneer. “In my sleep.”

The moment is right. He guns the engine and launches up the ramp.

In the parking lot of Mel’s Diner, the race car hauler is at the curb next to a dozen motorcycles. Mai and Duke are on one side of a booth, Duke’s wound hastily bandaged. Paco, Sweet Potato, and Sandy sit across from them.

Coffee steams and plates overflow.

“So,” Duke says, eyeing Mai. “What’s the Gator Show and Puppy Park got against you?”

Mai’s expression darkens. “I know too much about their business.”

Sandy leans in. “What kind of business?”

Mai looks them all in the eyes. “Puppy peddling!”

All gasp, and Sandy clenches a paw. “We’ve got to save them.”

Paco and Sweet Potato chime in. “We’re in!”

Duke’s expression is hidden by his sunglasses. “This is really gonna foul up my schedule.”

With the sun dropping lazily in the west behind them, Duke and Mai Daisi step into a palatial bachelor’s pad, the kind of place that belongs to a dog who lives well and lives alone. Towering bookshelves stretch across the walls, filled with leather-bound classics and dog-eared paperbacks. Abstract art and a few well-placed trophies hint at past glories. And in the center of it all, like a private oasis, an indoor lap pool glistens under soft, ambient lighting.

Duke and the package he should have never opened needed a rest. 

Or did they?

Duke gestures toward a guest room, his voice even. “There’s a bath and towels in there.”

Mai stands close. Too close. The air hums between them, charged with something unspoken. She tilts her head, her dark-rimmed eyes shining with mischief. “Thanks, but maybe I could come out here and take a swim instead?”

Duke’s expression doesn’t change. “Your choice, sister.”

Some time later, the water ripples slowly around Duke who rests one arm on the edge of the pool, his fur sparkly and glistening. His bandage is smaller, just a memory of trouble. 

Two drinks wait on the ledge, condensation trailing down the crystal.

Approaching from the spare bedroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel, Mai says, “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t bring my suit.”

Duke extends a paw in invitation. 

Mai steps down into the pool near him, bathed in the warm, watery glow. “What’s your name, mister?”

She leans down to hear the answer, then laughs softly. 

Sunlight spills into a room, cutting through the plush shadows of a massive bed. Duke is sprawled across one side, arms folded behind his head in a manly fashion. On the other, Mai is curled up prettily, her breathing slow and steady.

Ratta-tat-tat-tat! The big window shatters into a million pieces.

Duke’s eyes snap open.

It never fails. You don’t get to sleep in after a long day.

Mai Daisi bolts upright. 

Duke is already moving. “Come on, sister! It’s time to move!”

Mai swings her legs off the bed, grabbing for whatever she can find. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

Bullets plink against the walls. Duke yanks open the door and lets out a dry laugh.

They burst into the circular drive at the back of the house. Gunfire snicks past them, ricocheting off the pavement.

Plink, plink!

Mai skids to a stop, eyes wide. The BMW is a wreck—slashed tires, shattered windows.

“Now what do we do?” she asks.

Duke leans into the ruined car to pull out his driving goggles. From inside the vehicle, his voice is muffled but confident. “Always have a backup.”

They slip through a side door into a garage. It’s quiet—except for the sound of their own breathing.

The door clicks shut behind them.

And there, waiting in the dim light, is an exact copy of the BMW. Identical in every way. Except this one is white.

Duke gestures. “Get in.”

They hit the seats and the engine roars to life.

As the garage door slides halfway open, the BMW peels out, tires screeching, lifting onto two wheels as it takes the first turn at impossible speed.

Duke and Mai Daisi cruise down a dusty back road in the BMW, the sun casting long golden streaks across the windshield. They look like any other sporty couple out for a drive—both in sunglasses, Mai’s flirty chiffon scarf fluttering in the breeze.

But Mai’s intense expression tells a different story. 

Up ahead, the car hauler sits parked on the side of the road, a playful wind raising a cloud of dust. Paco, Sweet Potato, and Sandy lean against it, watching the approaching car with sharp eyes.

The moment Duke pulls up, they gather.

“So,” Duke says, stepping out, arms crossed. “What’s the plan? Or are we just going to get ourselves killed?”

Sweet Potato huffs, rolling a shoulder. “We’ll sneak in, grab the puppies, and get out. Simple.”

Mai Daisi narrows her eyes. “We need to shut them down—permanently.”

Paco grins, holding up a bag. “I’ve got disguises!”

Duke’s silence speaks volumes. “We need a distraction,” he says finally.

Sandy reveals her polished teeth in a grin, ruby-red nails tapping the hood of the car. “You leave that to me.”

Big Bob’s Gator Show and Puppy Park is packed with tourists, families milling about in cheap sunglasses, cameras flashing, the smell of fried food thick in the humid air.

At the center of the park, a massive circus tent looms, promising excitement. Behind it, the team gets into disguise.

Paco dresses in top hat and tails and applies a single sad clown tear to his cheek. Sweet Potato puts on a frilly tutu while her eyes dart toward the growing crowd. 

Mai Daisi slips into black spandex with an elegant feathered mask and begins to stretch.

Duke adjusts his crisp white shirt, tie, and coat, twirling a top hat in one paw. With the other, he holds up a pair of sparkling cufflinks. “You’ve got to be kidding, Paco.”

Paco shrugs. “We do a little song and dance, slip out to the puppy pens, and then we’re gone.”

Duke eyes the empty ring and shakes his head. 

Paco goes out first, shaking a tambourine.

The crowd coos, “Awwww!”

Sweet Potato follows, crab-walking around the edge of the lights, her tutu bouncing with each step.

Paco whispers urgently to her, “Sweets! Come on!”

Then—something happens.

Sweet Potato raises her head and lets out an unearthly howl. “Oww-ooooooooo-oooo!”

The crowd gasps.

Above them, Mai Daisi swings out on a trapeze, the spotlight catching the shimmer of her mask.

“Ahhhhh!”

Duke, standing on the ringmaster’s dais, watches the audience cheer—but something catches his attention.

A fence.

A sign. 

‘Big Bob, The Greater Gator, and His Many Friends.’

The problem? The fence has fallen.

The gators are escaping.

Outside, the crowd’s excitement shifts into something else—fear—and they begin to run.

Seeing Duke’s expression, the Paco and Sweets turn and see the problem. 

Bob, the Greater Gator, is hungry. More so than usual.

Duke’s voice is tight. “We’ve got a problem.”

Mai Daisi lets herself fall to the catch net, alights neatly on her feet, and runs to Duke’s side. “Follow me—I know where the puppy pens are.”

They take off.

Swiping his face with the back of his paw, Paco wipe the clown tear into warpaint. “How many gators are we talking?”

Sweet Potato, running beside him, snorts. “How many gators would it take?”

Ahead, the giant tail of Bob the Greater Gator disappears around the corner. He’s headed straight for the puppies.

Duke snaps into action. “Mai, find the puppies. Paco, bring the BMW. Sweet Potato, you’re on lookout.”

Paco salutes. “Yo quiero ir al rescate.”

Mai hesitates. “What about you?”

Duke’s eyes lock onto Bob’s receding tail.

“I’ll buy you some time.”

Duke and Bob stand claw to claw in the field between Bob’s broken pen and the pack of innocent puppies. In the distance, tourists are leaving in droves, and the smaller gators are slipping into the woods.

Behind Duke, Mai Daisi stands in front of the puppy pen in a dramatic stance. “I’m here, babies! Don’t worry!” 

Sweet Potato climbs up onto some rickety boxes overlooking the puppy pens. “Paco’s almost at the car!”

Duke states intently at Bob. He is still wearing his white shirt and black coat. Cuff links sparkle as he pulls on one cuff.

Duke faces off against the dog’s ancient foe, the gator. And not just any gator. Bob, pulled out of Lake Jessup as a hatchling, had grown to a length of 15 feet and over 900 lbs on a monotonous diet of frozen chicken. Bob was quite a plate of gator bites, and he was hungry for a gustatory adventure.

“Watch his tail, Duke!” Mai warns.

Duke is ready, shirt folded, paws at the ready. He cracks his knuckles. “Let’s go.”

Bob’s tail whips around, the sheer force like a battering ram—Duke jumps, barely dodging the strike. He lashes out with a kick. 

Bob lunges forward under his guard, teeth crushing down toward Duke’s leg, as dust kicks up. Duke leaps sideways but Bob snaps, catching him by the loose skin of his throat, shaking him violently. The cloud of dust rises to obscure them.

Mai gasps. “Duke!”

Duke flips backward into the air. Bob springs into the air and bites him around the chest, then twists him onto the dirt in a death roll. 

Sweet Potato shields the puppies. “Don’t look, little ones! Don’t look!”

In between the clouds of dust, the others see Duke and Bob in flashes—teeth, hide, fur, claws. But they also see a hint of starched white fabric, the flick of a narrow black ribbon, and the twinkle of rhinestones. 

When the dust settles, Bob, the Greater Gator, is… origami. 

His powerful jaws are wound shut with a bow tie. His forelimbs are wrapped in Duke’s shirt, twisted into a makeshift straitjacket. His tail is pinned to the ground with Duke’s coat—secured by a glittering something.

Duke, bloody and dusty, turns and walks away.

Mai Daisi runs to him. “How’d you do it?”

Duke smirks. “Those were some wicked cufflinks.”

Reversals of Fortune

Mai Daisi and Sweet Potato lead a gaggle of puppies past the Puppy Park office to meet Paco, parked beside the berm that surrounds the parking lot. Mai Daisi is closest to the building. 

It’s over. Bob is subdued, the team is reunited, and the bad guys—

Mai Daisi freezes as a shotgun muzzle presses against her chest.

Sweet Potato turns. “What’s the matter, Mai?”

“He’s got a bang-bang!” says a long-haired dachshund puppy.

“You can’t have the puppies!”

Paco raises his paws in the air, but heads are starting to turn toward the berm, behind which the sound of a bottle-fed engine howls. 

Flying over the berm comes the orange Charger to the sound of a calvary-style car horn. 

Sweet Potato grins. “She likes to make an entrance!”

Duke flies out of nowhere and kicks the shotgun away from Mai. Mai scrambles out of the way, pulling puppies with her. 

The shotgun hits the ground, and Paco dives back into the BMW. 

As Sandy pulls her car discretely around back of the circus tent, police cars swarm into the parking lot, sirens whooping. 

In the resulting chaos, Paco drives up beside Mai and Duke, a dachshund puppy perched on his head. “Let’s get these taquitos outta here!”

The puppy peddlers are taken away, their stash of guns destroyed and their ill-gotten gains put to better use.

The BMW speeds down the road, Paco’s paws tapping the wheel. Puppies cover the dash like beanie babies, their ears flapping in the wind.

Ahead, Sandy leads the way in her orange race car. Behind, Sweet Potato drives the car hauler.

Tucked into the BMW’s back seat, Mai Daisi leans close to Duke and whispers, “You lead an exciting life, mister.”

Duke smirks. “Only when I break the rules.”