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Chapter Sixteen: Nice Meeting You, Bill


"SCOOBY! NO! DOWN!" Becky's voice was shrill. The dog wasn't just giant, it was humungous. It'd knocked me down flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me, and proceeded to stand on top of me, lapping my face and hair with this colossal tongue that felt rough as sandpaper. Becky yanked the dog off me by its collar and I crab-walked backward a few feet across the lawn. It was a Great Dane. Or maybe a horse. It was that big. "SIT!"

The dog sat.

It was almost as tall as Becky.

"Jesus," I gasped.

"This is Scooby Doo," she said.

"Then I guess I should've said Zoinks."

Becky laughed. "If your hair was blonde, you would look sorta like Shaggy actually." She held the dog's collar tight and offered a hand to me. I leaped up though in a single fluid move that I'd perfected over the years on stage with the fellas. Becky looked impressed. "How agile," she commented. Then she started dragging Scooby back into the house.

Anyways, like I was saying before the dog thing -- the first thing I saw walking into the house was a giant fish tank, which glowed blue in the otherwise dark entry way. Saltwater fish zoomed around inside and the filter hummed quietly. Somewhere in the house, a TV was running and I could just barely make out the sounds of some old western cowboys and indians movie echoing off the walls.

Becky let go of Scooby's collar and he proceeded to come over and shove his nose in my crotch, sniffing.

I waved him away, but he stayed there sniffing anyway, keeping me cornered by the door.

Becky didn't notice. "Dad?" she yelled, walking out of the entry way.

I stared down at Scooby. "Good Scooby," I muttered, hoping he didn't suddenly decide to bite my crotch off.

"Nate?" Becky called a momet later.

"Uhhh huh."

"My dad's in here if you wanna come meet him..." she appeared in the door way again and saw what Scooby was doing. "You sick bastard," she said, "Get over here Scooby." She clicked her fingers and he quickly trotted over to her. The crotch of my jeans were now all wet from his nose. Oddly enough I think I had the start of a hard on, too. God damn it. "Sorry about that," Becky said.

"Yeah," I replied, wiping my jeans as best I could with my palms, not daring to press too hard lest said hard on got more obvious.

I was kind of freaked out that Carter Junior would come to attention for a dog sniffing my nether regions.

Becky led the way through the house. It was old fashioned, like the last time it'd been renovated was the mid-seventies. It had this weird burnt orange colored wall paper with strange triangular patterns in a more goldish-yellow color all over it, with dark walnut colored paneling lining the rooms at waist-height. We stepped through an arched doorway into a living room and we found the source of the cowboys and indians - it was Gunsmoke, playing on an old TV that looked like the one my grampa used to watch in the eighties. A guy who was probably in his late sixties sat on the couch. He looked like Archie Bunker.

"Daddy, this is Nate," Becky said, "He's the guy I went out with last night."

Becky's father stared up at me, squinting. He clapped his hands and the lamp beside him turned on. The lamp was close enough it would've been just as easy to flip the switch as it was for him to clap. "Impressed?" he asked when he caught me judging how close the lamp was and appraising the effort it took to clap compared to flip it manually. "It's a clapper," he said.

"I see that," I answered, "Very cool."

"Claps on and --" he clapped again, "Claps off, too."

"Very cool," I repeated.

"You two get acquainted. I'll go get my computer so we can go," Becky said and she jogged out of the room.

Scooby Doo came over and shoved his nose back into my crotch.

Her father clapped the lamp back on. He stared at Scooby attached to my crotch, then looked up at me. "Are you hiding pot up your yazoo?"

"Excuse me?"

"Scooby Doo was trained in the K-9 police force. He's retired, that's how he came to live with us."

"That's very cool," I said.

"That dog can smell drugs a mile away."

"I don't do drugs," I replied.

Scooby Doo continued sniffing.

Becky's father shrugged, "Must just like'ya then." He hit the mute button on the TV. He studied me a second. "What'd she say your name was? Bill?"

"It's Nate, sir," I replied.

"My names Bruce," he said.

"Nice to meet you Bruce."

Scooby Doo was still in my junk.

"So, Bill, you're dating my daughter," said Bruce.

I decided not to correct him. "Yes sir."

"Why?"

Why? What the hell kinda question was that. I waved at Scooby Doo, trying to get him to go away. How do you answer a question like why are you dating my daughter? I glanced around. I didn't see any shot guns or shovels. Scooby Doo wouldn't stop, no matter how many times I shooed him. Maybe Bruce had trained him to do such so that if he decided to castrate the guy that dated his daughter all he had to do was say Sick Balls like the guy at the junk yard in Stand By Me.

"She's beautiful," I answered, "And funny and we like the same stuff." It was a lame answer but it was all I had.

He studied me, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV volume back up.

At least he hadn't told Scooby Doo to sick my balls.

I stood there awkwardly cornered by the dog and ignored by Bruce when Becky returned hugging an orange laptop to her chest. "Scooby! No!" she yelled, shooing him away. "Dad, why didn't you tell Scooby to back off?"

"Was he doing something wrong?" Bruce asked, looking up.

"Besides being obnoxious to our guest? No."

Bruce was focused on the TV now.

"Dad, I'm going over Nate's, we're gonna watch movies. I'll be home in time to make you breakfast. Don't wait up."

Bruce didn't even look up, "Nice meeting you Bill."

"Bye sir," I replied.

Becky ushered me out of the house, and she pushed Scooby Doo back in when he tried to follow us out. She pulled the door shut and locked it behind her as we walked down the walkway to the Slyyymer. "Sorry about that," she apologized, looking down at my slobber covered jeans.

"It's all good," I replied.

"At least you weren't subjected to my brother," she laughed.

"Your dad was nice," I said.

She snorted. "He's never nice."

"Well he did accuse me of having pot shoved up my penis, but that's about it."

"He what?" Becky laughed. "Oh Daddy, that is a new low." She climbed into the Slyyymer. I was climbing in, too, when I noticed a guy standing in an upstairs window, staring down at us.

But Becky pulled away from the curb before I got a good look at Boo Radley.

"I always wanted to be adopted," Becky commented.