“She slang her pups last night,” said Slim. “Nine of ’em.”
“I drowned four of ’em right off. She couldn’t feed that many.”
“Got five left, huh?” “Yeah, five. I kept the biggest.”
“What kinda dogs you think they’re gonna be?” “I dunno,” said Slim. “Some kinda shepherds, I guess.”
“That’s the most kind I seen around here when she was in heat.”
Carlson went on, “Got five pups, huh. Gonna keep all of ’em?”
“I dunno. Have to keep ’em a while so they can drink Lulu’s milk.”
Carlson said thoughtfully, “Well, looka here, Slim. I been thinkin’.”
“That dog of Candy’s is so God damn old he can’t hardly walk. Stinks like hell, too.”
“Ever’ time he comes into the bunk house I can smell him for two, three days.”
“Why’n’t you get Candy to shoot his old dog and give him one of the pups to raise up?”
“I can smell that dog a mile away. Got no teeth, damn near blind, can’t eat.”
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