Mrs Reginald Bousquet

She wears a vest with a canister of mace in one pocket, a sling-shot in the other, a zipper pouch of dog treats & poop bags, and a small rifle strapped to her back. She's 75, and according to the right-wing Jesusy TV shows she watches, she's on safari in THE BRONX not the bucolic town of Blacksburg, Illinois. She has a muzzle on her lion, a precious Golden Retriever named Atlas. Atlas Bousquet. All of this defense and weaponry is because she is afraid of running into other dogs. Of course Atlas is always the aggressor, but neutering is out of the question. "If God wanted the dog's balls removed he wouldn't have given them to him in the first place." 

A vicious Golden Retriever is hard to find. But this one is so sick of being penned in by the electric fence, he hates that damn collar beeping in his ear, that on his walk he takes it out on anything that moves. But of course it's always the other dog's fault. When she crosses the road, her gigantic bag carrying two blobs of poop swing like the scrotum of a bull and I have to laugh. It's all about the balls, she can't escape it.