The Dog That Bites You Back a work of Fiction by loud7@enternet.com.a (Craig Garrett) This is a work in progress that is part of a larger story, yet to be written. (If anyone has any suggestions send me an email) Dean was a collector of many things, a hoarder, an exceptional cook and he was fat. He always came last in the annual cross country race, was always made goalie when his PE class played soccer or hockey because, as the other kids told him, ³Youıre the best one for the jobŠ nobody can get the ball past your wide arse², and couldnıt dance (so he never went to school socials). He was also the butt of all the playground jokes - because everyone thought he was Œweirdı. He wasnıt really considered weird until a so-called Œfriendı, Joel, came to his house one day and saw the bottles and boxes that were labelled, numbered and carefully arranged on Deanıs shelves. Joel asked, ³Whatıs in them?² and pointed at the containers. ³Just stuff I collect.² Dean answered. Joel checked out the boxes and bottles. Typed on the labels was a date and explanation of the contents. The first one he looked at was: 1985. Scabs picked from knees and elbows ³Shit,² he said, ³Thatıs fucking tweaked.² ³What?² Dean asked. ³Collecting scabs and shit.² ³Iıve got heaps.² He replied, misunderstanding Joel and thinking Œtweakedı meant something good. ³Iıve got stitches and lungs and stuff. Do you want to see more?² ³No way! Iım out of here.² Joel said as he moved quickly towards the door. By recess the next day rumour had it that Dean collected all sorts of strange things. No matter how much he denied collecting animal bits, or different kinds of shit, or whatever else the kids could think to accuse him of collecting, they just kept on teasing him. As one of his classmates accused him of being some type of pervert, Dean decided to bring some of his collections to school with him the next day to prove he collected Œnormalı things. That afternoon he went straight home and looked through his carefully arranged collection. Grabbing at jars containing old syringes, or used band aids, scabs, dry snot, dead bugs or flaky skin he searched for something good to show them. On his Œbody stuffı shelf he found a box marked: 1987. Warts and various toenail clippings ³No, that wonıt do.² From his Œoperation and ailmentı shelf he grabbed a bottle labelled: 1989. Stiches from knee. He received the stiches after some bullies pushed him over and left a four centimetre gash in his knee. ³Nope.² Then he remembered his appendix. He reached up to the top of his cupboard and pulled down a bottle. Inside, the fuzzy-white shape of Deanıs appendix lay in phimaldahide. ³Thatıs it.² He put his appendix and a couple of other boxes in his school bag - ready to take to school. The next day Dean showed the kids boxes of dead bugs, preserved sea-creatures, his old retainer and the bottled appendix. No one was impressed. One extra large bully took the bottle and thew it out onto the road - laughing as the glass smashed into little pieces and scattered schizophrenically around the organ. He laughed even more when a car drove past and squashed it. Dean barely held back tears. They never let him forget his Œweirdnessı and it wasnıt until he left school to follow his passion for cooking that he escaped their taunts. He was always enthusiastic about cooking, even at 12 he was better than his parents. Many of his soups were of a velvet-like consistency and almost melted on their way down past the taste-buds. In his stews the meat and vegetables were always cooked to perfection, never over cooked (which is so easy to do), and his curries always contained freshly ground spices mixed to the correct proportions. His fastidious nature meant he had the right temperament for cooking. He was patient and would follow recipes to the letter. ÌÌÌ Now in his mid-twenties, Dean is a fully qualified chef and the owner-operator of a local hot dog caravan: ŒThe Dog That Bites You Backı. It serves gourmet hot dogs like the Gerry-Manderer, a German Kransky sausage served with spicy Bulgarian Tomato sauce; the Ivan-Hoe, a Russian Sausage served with a vodka-based white sauce; and the Cavalry Corruptor, a Mexican sausage served with spicy beans and tomato sauce - all of which Dean prepares to his own special recipe. Dean works for hours in his kitchen grinding spices and mustard seeds, sautéing ingredients and simmering sauces. He travels far across the city collecting ingredients. He takes boxes and bottles, each numbered and labelled, with him on his weekly journeys through the suburbs where he picks up bargains and scrounges around vegetable markets, Italian deliıs and Chinese supermarkets. Regardless of how much work he puts into his cooking, the customers never really appreciate the subtleties of his sauces. Generally they ask for the U.S. of A., which is a plain hot dog served with store bought onion flakes, crispy bacon bits, American Mustard and Traditional American Ketchup (both made by Dean). ÌÌÌ Dean is most happy in his kitchen: Heating in olive oil a deep saucepan are chopped onions, spices and garlic. On the other side of the kitchen Dean reaches into his fridge and chooses one of the many neatly arranged jars on the third shelf. On the label is typed: 1992. Skin flakes from sunburn, warts and dry snot. The kitchen is spotless. All ingredients are in boxes, containers, jars and bottles. They sit on shelves, in cupboards and in the fridge. Each is numbered, labelled and arranged in a particular order so he knows exactly where to find each specific ingredient. There is nothing out of place. All the pans have their place, each item of cutlery lives on a particular shelf or in a specific draw and the room is ordered. Each of his home-made sauces live on the top shelf in his fridge. The bottles are arranged from left to right (the most recently cooked on the left), and each is labelled. On each label is the name of the sauce and date it was cooked. There is no place for disorder or mess. He walks back over to the pan, whistling a little tune he has forgotten the name of - but itıs catchy, and pours the skin flakes, warts and dry snot on top of the onions, garlic and olive oil. Then he adds some chopped tomatoes and turns up the heat - stirring constantly. When the mixture begins to bubble he turns the heat down, gets his Œslender blenderı, blends the ingredients, adds some squashed worms and leaves it to simmer for forty-five minutes. When the sauce is cooled Dean gets a sterilised bottle from the cupboard under the stove and sticks a typed label on the bottle: 1998. Traditional American Ketchup. He cleans sauce drips off the outside of the bottle and places it, label facing out, on the top shelf in the fridge. Created on Sun, 17 May 1998 and last modified on Mon, 18 May 1998.

LOUDonline - http://www.loud.net.au - Sun, 31 May 1998