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Big Ron Treads in Steve Costigan’s Footsteps

The wife got this scrappy little terrier for the apartment so I kind of adopted him, figured he needed some guidance. I call him Hotdog.

I don’t walk him on a leash. The dindu woman across the hall is a city cop and when I had Hotdog out her son was walking their dog on a leash, a female dog, and Hotdog was on it, fuckin’ that bitch good. So the dindu woman complains to me and tells me about the leash law, and I told her that her dog seemed to be enjoying it too. But I still walk him free.

There was this famous dog in San Francisco, a champion ratter, with one eye from a rat ripping it out. I remember reading how all the kids in the city would get a penny per a rat and the men would fill up a bushel basket of rats and dump them into the pit with a dog and bet on how long it took the dog to kill all the rats.

So, I got this idea for a treat for Hotdog. I went to the pet store and got a big white rat for him. The wife thought it was a terrible idea and told me that he’d pussy out. So I walked him out into the woods behind the apartments and tossed that white rat for him—he was on it. When he started shaking that thing it was all over.

When I brought him in, his face covered with blood, the wife was horrified so I washed him up. A dog’s got ta live a little. Hotdog is not only a rapist but a killer—closer to an ancient kind of men than most of us.

-Big Ron

Imagine, Ron, if aliens came to earth and took over and kept us as pets. You’d want an owner like yourself, who’d look the other way while you nailed the showgirl next door, an owner that even went to the pound to buy a hoodrat for you to beat up in the woods.

Note Links

Let the World Fend for Itself

Big Ron's Baltimore: A Working Man's View of Urban Blight

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