Frito Bandito

Mr. Lane and I are proof that there's a sucker born every minute. Kindness can turn on a dime and bite you right on your ever-lovin' without warning. Obtaining the whole story, no matter what, is more important than I can stress.

As I tell you this story, think about how you would have felt and what you would have done. Tell me if you wound up bit in the end.

Our neighbor's uncle Al, died last week. When we heard the news, we felt bad for him and his family. Al was only 47-years-old and although he had been wheelchair bound for more than a decade, he wasn't sick and died suddenly. The coroner said he died as a result of a seizure, likely caused by his medication.

Al was found the next morning with his faithful companion, Frito, at his side. The part about his dog laying with him broke mine and Mr. Lane's hearts. We offered Jim our condolences and anything else he needed.

After the services, Jim told Mr. Lane that his father, Nick, (Al's brother) would like to keep Frito. He gave Frito to Al when he was a puppy. The problem was, Nick lives out of state and wasn't able to take the dog on the flight back home. Since Mr. Lane was headed in his direction for business, he agreed to bring Frito to Nick.

Frito was delivered to our house by Jim at 6 a.m. Monday. We were ready. We had a dog kennel, two bowls, a big blanket, some dog toys, bones, rawhide, food and a gallon of water. Frito would spend two days in the truck with Mr. Lane, before arriving to his new home. We wanted to make his trip as comfortable as possible. Lane 1 offered to go on the trip to help his dad with the dog.

My whole family felt so bad for the dog. He just lost his dad, and was going to be trapped in a truck for a couple of days with a stranger, just to be dropped off with someone else he really didn't know. We felt bad for Nick, even though we never met, because he just lost his brother. We felt bad for Jim and knew he didn't want to ask such a big favor.

Jim hopped out of his truck. He called to the dog to come out, "Come on puppy. It's okay. Frito, come."

Mr. Lane and I began to approach the truck, in an effort to coax Frito out. When we saw him, we looked at each other, our eyes were as big as flying saucers. Frito was a pitbull. A big mother fucking pitbull.

We tried really hard not to pass judgment. In our minds we chanted, "It's all in the way they are raised."

Knowing he already saw what I was seeing, I whispered, "Honey, it's a fucking pitbull."

"Good eye Lois."

"Well babe, I don't know if you should take him. I mean, what if he flips out and eats you?"

"He ain't gettin' my Snausages," he nervously said, holding his crotch.

Jim got Frito out of the truck and he seemed to be pretty calm. He didn't want Mr. Lane or I to approach him, however. He let us know with a subtle growl. Jim thought it best to lead Frito into the kennel. Mr. Lane decided the quickest way to make friends would be to feed him. He filled one dish with food and the other with water. He set them into the kennel. As he was closing the door, the dog charged. Thankfully, my old man has quick reflexes.

No one knew about Frito's food aggression. He tore the blanket apart burying his food. He growled and barked at anyone within four-feet of the kennel, even Jim.

Here's where I ditch you guys. Finish the story. What do you think happened next? Did Mr. Lane take the growling pitbull out of state? Is Frito living at the Lane Estate? Did any of us get bitten? Did Frito change his evil ways? I'll be back with the conclusion of Frito Bandito tomorrow. If anyone guesses the end of the story, there will be a grand prize in your future, and no. It's not Fritos.