SPEAK-easy It’s never the guy with the dog that gets the girl. It’s the dog with the guy that get’s the girl. So just how do we pair Fatso Tony together with a pedigree pouch .No way is the pouch hooking up with the mobster of its own free way will. Not a chance. But that very same ‘character’ with no pedigree, big bucks and an appetite larger than Anthony Weiner’s sexting main course menu, now itches for just one thing: a place to put a body where no one will view the remains and the disposal of same occurs amidst a Chorus in AIDA staging the Triumphal scene. That’s the very peculiar dilemma that “FT” confronts on an otherwise soggy, humidity-drenched lazy mid-August afternoon in Bergen County, New Jersey. “FT” never saw this coming – that he would zip into Manhattan in his creme Jag on a Wednesday afternoon and in less than twenty-four hours be charged with the disposal of the remains of a dog that he barely got to know let alone maybe die for. A Broad to die for, that FT can relate to, but a dog, please. But that’s FT’s situation and it ain’t lookin’ very pretty. If only he had never made a wrong right turn unto one-way south bound Macdougal Street traffic he wouldn’t be in this mess. But no he wanted so much to show-case the Jag rear jump-seat that as he looked back to reflect its regalness he caught the eye of Grace Kelly meets Olivia DeHaviland in the body of Madonna. So who cares about an easement on the highway of Life when it’s lookin’ all that good. Not FT; now then, not even now, never. So as he barely side-swipes the exquisitely clutched mega-hatbox, FT sighs and in a hot New York second realizes he is a goner, for good. The good news for FT is that the person now clutching the over-sized hatbox has eyes only for him. But the rear-guard and oncoming traffic will not yield him an inch more of face-time with his fair beauty unless he does the one and only right thing to do: yank that super-size hatbox with its Owner in tow and ferry the pair of them into the jump seat. Or as his Kids would say: drop ’em like their hotter than burnt buns. Oh what a gorgeous jam to be in if he could only find a rearway back out and quick then, there and still, now. How was FT to comprehend that the Babe with the big box was searching for a luxurious hearse to bear the remains of her beloved NAHAL to a sacred spot out East. The ANIMAL RESCUE FUND OF THE HAMPTONS, to which she had referred so many animals in various stages of dis-repair had never let her or them down. But now when her Special One had just passed and needed a proper conveyance to her final Resting Oasis – there was seemingly no magic carpet ride in sight ’til she saw FT or was it more probable ’til FT saw her… Whatever, FT knew it was fool-hardy to continue to replay their brief interlude just due south of Positively West Fourth Street over and over again. The fact that FT – now saddled with the dearly departed dog of a Babe whose name he knows not, but does that of the dog that rests peacefully in the Broad’s big-time box which is perched atop FT’s over-size’d mid-section – is a might much for a Crew-master who lives to bark orders. The fact that the Doll is gone is not a material fact that FT can over-look, either. It’s just him, the decedent and the lone ride out East that they will jointly and suddenly undertake that has become the solitary focus of FT’s magnificent fixation. All FT has to do to saddle the Babe is get the precious contents of her box to ARF Thrift & Treasure Shop at 17 Montauk Highway, Sagaponack, New York He recalled her screeching: The shop is located one tenth of a mile west of the Sagg Main light on Montauk Highway. So much for famous last words, anything for the Gal to be re-boxed. The only thing standing ltierally between FT and true lust is the Animal Rescue Fund of the Hamptons Thirft Shop. He would tarry not another second – just as she had slim-shady slipped down the jump seat’s rear end into freedom so too would FT fly highways, by-ways, lanes and marshes to reach the ARF Thrift & Treasure Shop just in time for the BOW WOW MEOW BALL. To think that all this is happening not because his Jag is exceptionally awesome, or its driver a mirror image; not at all. Rather its colour: creme. That’s why FT is now speeding like a drunken dish-washer – all because of the colour creme. Ironically FT was en route to a fix ‘n flat shop in Bed Stuy where they do great riotous red paint jobs in the rear – Jags only need apply. But that was not to be – FT vowed if he ever got to the Ball on time with steerage in tow he would maintain the creme ’til Kingdom come. How could he possibly imagine that a dog breed of hound and terrier ancestry, developed in Germany to pursue badgers into their burrows, would seduce a love into his very own lair. Oh, that such a dog – a dachshund – usually reddish brown or black and tan – would be the magnificent mystical muse of FT’s desire and all because of this particular dachshund’s colour: creme. ANIMAL RESCUE FUND OF THE HAMPTONS Dog breed of hound and terrier ancestry developed in Germany to pursue badgers (German, Dachs) into their burrows. It is a long-bodied, lively dog with a deep chest, short legs, tapering muzzle, and long ears. Usually reddish brown, or black and tan, it is bred in two sizes (standard and miniature) and in three coat types (smooth, long, and wiry). The standard dachshund stands about 7–10 in. (18–25 cm) high and weighs 16–32 lbs (7–14.5 kg); the miniature is shorter and weighs less than 9 lbs (4 kg). ANIMAL RESCUE FUND OF THE HAMPTONS Dog breed of hound and terrier ancestry developed in Germany to pursue badgers (German, Dachs) into their burrows. It is a long-bodied, lively dog with a deep chest, short legs, tapering muzzle, and long ears. Usually reddish brown, or black and tan, it is bred in two sizes (standard and miniature) and in three coat types (smooth, long, and wiry). The standard dachshund stands about 7–10 in. (18–25 cm) high and weighs 16–32 lbs (7–14.5 kg); the miniature is shorter and weighs less than 9 lbs (4 kg).