Shuddering from the impact, Bailey's car lurched toward the shoulder of the highway. Muffy screamed with fright as her former chauffeur fumbled to regain control of the unruly steering wheel. After a few tense moments he succeeded in straightening the vehicle, and it curved into a straight course along the grooved right shoulder.
Muffy was shaken and pale, and Bailey himself appeared to be struggling for breath. As the shock and terror faded from their hearts, they noticed that the green sedan and its malevolent driver had rocketed ahead at top speed, seemingly uninterested in another attack. Bailey gently applied the brakes, and the battered hybrid slowed and stopped on the roadside.
Muffy was the first to speak, though it was more of a whimper. "He…he tried to…to…to kill us," she mumbled.
"I rather don't think so, Miss Muffy," said Bailey, watching the hostile car turn into a speeding speck on the horizon. "If that were the case, he would have stayed here to finish the job. Did you happen to see his license plate number?"
"I saw a lot of things, Bailey," replied Muffy, her voice weak but peevish. "My entire life flashed before my eyes, even the embarrassing parts."
"Stay here," said the dog man, unbuckling his seat belt. His gait nervous and unsteady, he paced back and forth on the asphalt, examining the streak-like scratches and cavernous dents left in his precious vehicle. The left side-view mirror had been completely shorn off, and the window cracked from top to bottom in a web-like pattern. "Egads," he grumbled under his breath. "My insurance company will have a devil of a time paying for this damage."
His young passenger unexpectedly came to his side. "He singled us out, Bailey," she said fearfully. "He knew my cell phone number. This was personal."
"I thought I told you to stay in the car," said Bailey.
"No, you didn't," was Muffy's response. "You told me stay here, and this is here." A squad car with spinning blue and red lights whipped past them, its siren screaming.
While Muffy and Bailey were describing their experience to a highway patrolman, Fern was assisting Alan in the urgent labor of placing posters on poles and walls throughout their neighborhood. Each poster featured a photo of a Shih Tzu in a tiny wheelchair and the words, LOST DOG. The temperature was dropping, and they began to wish they had worn more than mere sweaters. Having dispensed with roughly one hundred sheets, they met in front of the Sugar Bowl entrance to exchange reports.
"I went all the way to Albertson High School and put one up on their bulletin board," said Fern. "I figured, since teenagers know everything, maybe one of them knows where the Professor is."
"I don't know what good this will do," said Alan darkly. "If he were anywhere nearby, he would've contacted me telepathically. I'm afraid he's either dead, or locked up in a kennel that's been lined with silver foil so his brainwaves can't get through."
"No kidding," marveled Fern. "Silver foil can do that?"
"According to George," said Alan, "silver foil can block any kind of waves."
Flashback
George and his sister Sal sat lazily before the TV screen, George's head protected by a silvery helmet with holes that allowed his antlers to protrude.
"We'll return to American Idol right after these messages," announced host Ryan Seacrest. "During the break, you might want to consider going to your refrigerator for a Coca-Cola drink, or if you're out of Coca-Cola drinks, hopping into your Ford Focus and driving to the convenience store to buy more Coca-Cola drinks."
Sal's eyes glazed over. Jumping up from the couch and stretching out her arms, she trudged toward the kitchen, muttering, "Must…drink…Coca-Cola…"
End flashback
Hand in hand once again, Fern and Alan wandered away from the Sugar Bowl, eager to go back to their warm houses. Less than a minute later, Raymond Mansch poked his head around the corner of the building, and, seeing that the two children were long gone, ventured to approach a nearby phone pole. Seeing a poster with the Professor's image, he unfastened it from the wooden pillar, held it in both hands, and gazed at it with a wistful smile.
When Francine returned to her apartment after a jaunt with the Reads, she was in the middle of enjoying a new and delightful sensation—the taste of a hot dog. A hot dog with mustard, ketchup, relish, and a real weiner. I've wasted my life, she thought as she took another eager bite.
Her mother was the first to notice, first by smell, then by sight. "Francine Alice Frensky, what are you eating?" she inquired sternly.
"It's a hot dog," replied the girl through a mouthful of food.
Mrs. Frensky set her parenting magazine aside, rose from the easy chair, and forcefully snatched the offending item from Francine's hand. "And I want you to go to the toilet and spit out the rest," she said while stuffing what remained of the hot dog through the hole leading to the garbage disposal.
Francine swallowed defiantly. "I'm not Jewish anymore," she informed her mother. "I don't have to eat kosher."
Her mother glared and pointed an accusing finger. "While you're living under our roof, you'll honor our values," she ordered.
"Values?" Francine shrugged. "Since when is it a value to not eat hot dogs?"
Mr. Frensky, having overheard the scolding, emerged from his room. "Pigs are unclean creatures," he said to his daughter. "That's what God said in the Torah."
"So what?" said Francine. "Cows are unclean too. They have flies crawling all over them, they walk around in their own poop…but we eat them anyway."
"That's different," said Mr. Frensky, his hands on his hips. "Cows have one purpose, pigs have another."
"Yeah?" said Francine boldly. "What's the purpose of pigs, then? To herd sheep?"
"Don't talk back to your father," Mrs. Frensky admonished her.
"That's right," said her husband confidently. "My word is law in this house."
"Our word is law," his wife corrected him.
Mr. Frensky's expression turned sheepish. "Yes, dear."
"All right," said Francine, sounding a bit dejected. "It won't happen again…in this house."
"Hrmph," was all her father had to add.
Francine eyed him hopefully. "Now that that's out of the way," she said with haste, "can I be baptized a Christian?"
To be continued