The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog Read online

  Advance Praise for

  The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog

  “Bill Boggs and his friend Spike the Wonder Dog unleash comedic wizardry in this madcap, highly entertaining, satirical novel. Spike is the newest canine literary hero to take on the world with hilarious results.”

  —Winston Groom, author of Forrest Gump

  “The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog is so smart, witty, and inventive that I had to keep reminding myself that I didn’t write it.”

  —Alan Zweibel, original SNL writer and Thurber Prize–winning

  author of The Other Shulman

  “Don’t let the title of the book fool you—The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog is indeed about a dog, and a wondrous canine at that! But the book is also a highly personal and very compelling memoir of the underbelly of local and national television and fame. Amidst the hilarity, and it is indeed one of the funniest books I’ve ever read, there is a very touching coming-of-age story for man and dog, with good-natured, lovable characters albeit with some dastardly ones as well!”

  —Will Friedwald, Wall Street Journal, author of Straighten Up

  and Fly Right: The Life and Music of Nat King Cole

  “Bill Boggs has hit a home run with this highly original and hilarious satire on…everything! A terrific read I highly recommend.”

  —Marc Eliot, New York Times bestselling author

  “Mr. Lee, call your lawyer. There’s a new Spike in town, an acid-tripping terrier who savages the media landscape while avoiding death and castration. Bill Boggs takes us on a darkly comic journey through his twisted world. It takes a hero with four legs—and two balls—to survive.”

  —Richard Johnson, New York Post

  “OMG! Who could write such an outrageous novel? Spike the Wonder Dog! With a little help from his pal, the raconteur Bill Boggs, Spike has gotten his memoirs down (on a better grade of paper than most pets get). His dog-eared hearing picks up the bizarre sounds of people being their fallible human selves, and his soft canine eyes see more than is probably good for him. Spike the Wonder Dog is an irreverent hoot.”

  —Susan Isaacs, New York Times bestselling author

  “The wondrous Bill Boggs’ The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog has another big adventure awaiting: climbing to the heights of the bestseller lists. Spike tells us the story of how he and his master, Bud, go from Spike’s first appearance on local High Point North Carolina daytime TV, to a big deal appearance on late night TV, to big time NY TV. Spike will keep you laughing—and on the edge of your seat at the same time. Filled with real-life celebs, lots of inside TV info and crazy adventures, this one is made for the big screen. How do you say ‘bravo’ in dog?”

  —Linda Stasi, New York Daily News columnist, TV commentator,

  bestselling author of The Sixth Station and Book of Judas

  “Like Joan Rivers, The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog is definitely Not Safe for Snowflakes. But fans of transgressive humor like Family Guy or Dave Chappelle will appreciate Spike’s wild tales, which are raunchy, hilarious, and spectacularly politically incorrect. Bill Boggs has the manners of a gentleman, as does Spike—so they’ll both understand if you take offense. Rivers would just have told you to go fuck yourself.”

  —Leslie Bennetts, author, Last Girl Before Freeway:

  The Life, Loves, Losses and Liberation of Joan Rivers

  “A quick escape from life’s stresses with this funny and witty read. Bill Boggs has written a satire populated with a cast of characters worthy of a hit comedy.”

  —Talia Carner, author of The Third Daughter, Hotel Moscow,

  Jerusalem Maiden, and others

  “Bill Boggs draws upon years of experience as a TV host for this satirical look inside the wacky world of TV talk shows. The non-stop comedic banter from dog Spike (who could have a stand-up comic career if he was human) makes the story flow like you’re watching a great sitcom.”

  —Richard Baker, Comedy Manager, Executive Producer of

  Last Man Standing and Home Improvement

  A POST HILL PRESS BOOK

  The Adventures of Spike the Wonder Dog:

  As told to Bill Boggs

  © 2020 by Bill Boggs

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-64293-376-5

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-64293-377-2

  Cover art by Adam Baker

  Illustrations by Jacob Below

  English Bull Terrier icon art by Delsart Olivia

  Interior design and composition by Greg Johnson, Textbook Perfect

  This book is a work of fiction. All incidents, dialogue, and characters aside from the named public personalities are products of the author’s imagination. While these public figures are based on their real-life counterparts, any incidents or dialogue involving them are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, commentary, or endorsement, and are included for comedic effect. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Post Hill Press

  New York • Nashville

  posthillpress.com

  Published in the United States of America

  “I have found that when you are deeply troubled,

  there are things you get from the silent,

  devoted companionship of your pets

  that you can get from no other source.

  I have never found in a human being loyalty

  comparable to that of any pet.”

  —Doris Day

  “Never lose your sense of humor,

  it’s the most valued possession you have.”

  —HOWARD HIGMAN

  L.H.S. January ’59

  “Warning: I got no trigger warnings for you.”

  —Spike

  Contents

  Prelude

  Part One

  Chapter 1: High Point

  Chapter 2: New York: The First Time

  Chapter 3: Celebrity

  Chapter 4: Lombardo

  Chapter 5: The Visit

  Chapter 6: Vegas

  Chapter 7: “The Hebe Named Zebe”

  Chapter 8: On the Lam

  Chapter 9: The Phone Call

  Part Two

  Chapter 10: The Trailer

  Chapter 11: The Show

  Chapter 12: Our Life

  Chapter 13: Tryin’ to Get Laid

  Chapter 14: Disco Fever

  Chapter 15: Benny and Some Jets

  Chapter 16: The Gaze

  Chapter 17: Daisy

  Chapter 18: Gone Dog

  Part Three

  Chapter 19: The Hour Shall Come

  Chapter 20: The Freezer

  Chapter 21: Dyin’ with Your Boots On

  Chapter 22: A Month Later: The Orange Doghouse

  About the Author

  Prelude

  And so, Spike started at…The Eve of Destruction.

  Last week, I’m getting a standing ovation from fans at The Garden for returning Roger Federer’s 130-mile-an-hour serve with my head. Now I’m locked in a cage on a filthy concrete floor growling at two guys named Julio.

  They stole me off the street. I’ve had to fight for my life. Tomorrow, these crack-sniffing degenerate morons are throwin’ me in against two dogs at once—Monstro, three times my size, plugged with more steroids than the Giants’ defense. His hobby’s biting anything that moves. Nice résumé. His coworker, Little Tiger, is trained to crack the bones in your back legs. The Julios are betting against me. Everybody is
. I would, too.

  Where the hell is Bud? Buffy? Lombardo?

  How did this happen? How does a good little puppy from a top breeder in Devon, PA, end up a big TV star killed in a rigged fight? I just wanted the simple life of bein’ a good pet for Bud.

  I’m alone. It’s dark and creepy in the middle of the night. Only the sounds of lonely dogs barkin’ in their dreams for a master they never had.

  I got a hell of a story for ya, and if this is my last night alive, like I figure it is, I might as well tell it.

  But wait a second.

  If you’re as sharp as I figure you are for bothering to read this in the first place, you’re probably already wondering, how can a dog tell a story? Fair question. So I’ll explain. Anybody who’s ever had a dog sees that we understand every word you’re saying when you’re talking to us. Right? You know that. Don’t deny it. Look, we’ve had centuries of listening to you humans blather on with your every concern, every whim, every worry. We get it.

  And yeah, at times, face it—you’re tedious. It’s, like, deadening for us hearin’ all this long-winded drivel when we should be outside running around together playing happily in the sunshine. You see your dog yawning? Consider what you’re talking about. Wonder why your dog sticks his head outta the car while you’re cruising down the road? Same thing. You’re not bowlin’ us over with your wit and jocularity.

  So we got the listenin’ part down solid, but it’s a sad evolutionary fact that we’re still a long way from being able to bark back in a meaningful two-way chat. The average dog is frustrated by this, and—unknown to you till right now—there’s a great deal of canine incontinence that occurs ’cause of this communication block.

  But I got lucky, ’cause in the case of telling you this story, my communication was greatly aided by licking some drool off Mr. Boggs’ mouth after he’d taken a psilocybin mushroom capsule.

  “Why,” you ask, “would a stable, charming man like Mister Boggs be taking magic mushrooms? Even a microdose?”

  Well, my master, Bud, was doin’ a special for his TV show about the benefits of tiny amounts of psilocybin for treating things like depression, end-of-life suffering, or enhancing creativity. So Bud talked his pal Mr. Boggs, who’s always up for a little more TV exposure, into being part of the “creativity group.”

  A nurse who’s got two bad tattoos—unfortunate, slightly cross-eyed versions of Taylor Swift’s face—inked large on the back of each big calf, gives Mr. Boggs his dose. Of course, he wants more, but she says no. After she and the cross-eyed Taylor Swifts leave, Mr. Boggs searches the supply cabinet and gleefully helps himself to another pill. He goes back to a dressing room, puts on a fluffy white robe, and lies down to relax.

  What am I doing there? Well, Bud’s busy across the street doin’ some editing, so I get left with Mr. Boggs, who’s one of my closest friends, a real buddy. We got a great connection, and he’s almost like a second master to me. We’re curled up together. As he’s sleepin’, I see a river of drool oozing outta the corner of his mouth, so I lick it off.

  Yeah, that’s pretty affectionate on my part, but it’s also protecting him in case, say, maybe some attractive TV producer walks in. I don’t want her seein’ Mr. Boggs with his big mouth wide open, drooling all over the pillow. Or worse, what if the photographer who’s been lurkin’ around the set stops by and snaps a shot of him? I can see the National Enquirer: “Dying Bill’s Brave Goodbye!” You gotta take care of your friends, and I’m glad I did, ’cause….

  About a half hour later, Mr. Boggs wakes up. His eyes are wide open, and for the next ten minutes, he’s staring at me, and I’m staring back at him. He’s smiling real big. I’m wagging real hard. We’re, like, connected but in another world. His eyes are blue like they’ve never been. I’m looking into these little blue pools feeling like I’m shooting my thoughts into his brain, tellin’ him some of the stuff that’s happened to me in the last two years. And then slowly, it’s like I’m rising up and twirling around and around and around, and I land on a big stage. A giant red velvet curtain lifts and I’m in the spotlight, and he’s floating in front of me, like he’s an astronaut who happens to be wearin’ a white bathrobe with an ABC logo instead of a space suit.

  “Spike,” he says, “it’s like I can hear you in my head.”

  “Indeed, Mister Boggs. You can!”

  “You’re talking to me, Spike!” Mr. Boggs says.

  “I want to tell you the story.”

  “Yes, Spike! Yes! Nobody knows what all that was like for you. Stardom? The kidnapping? Those fights? That awful freezer? Tell me,” he says.

  “Then close your eyes and turn on the picture in your head while you’re floating around out there.”

  “Spike, you’re coming in on wide-screen high-def with a Bose soundbar. No, wait…I upgraded myself to three-D with Dolby seven-point…. Go!”

  “Well, Mister Boggs, it all started ’cause it looked like I was yawning on cue….”

  1

  High Point

  Bud took me to the TV station that morning. I’d never been on television. I was nine months old, with the immediate goal of mastering control of basic excretory function. I’d been out of control a lot, so maybe that’s why I got hauled to the studio in the first place.

  He sits me in a big blue chair on the set and rattles off the day’s guests:

  A psychic who’s boldly predicting that Adele will replace Marie Osmond as a Nutrisystem spokeswoman exactly five years from today.

  Lawyer Gloria Allred’s proudly displaying two big digital devices that demonstrate the number of men blamed for sexual misconduct is rising faster than the national debt.

  Some PC singer’s on promoting his new album of songs revised to be gender-neutral. He’s gonna sing “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Person.”

  There’s a doctor warning of a scary new thing plaguing humans called Dormant Butt Syndrome, which has most of the audience goosing themselves to check.

  Finally, he’s got an interview with Cher that he taped after her show at the Greensboro Coliseum. OK, I know she’s so old that she’s up there with dead people like Alexander Hamilton, ’cause there’s a Broadway show about her, but don’t get me started on Cher. Every time I see her on TV, I want to lick those thighs.

  Anyway, right after he says “and Cher” in that big, kinda too-loud voice he uses sometimes on TV, he turns to me and says, “Well, what do you think of the show today, Spike?” Now I’m looking at him and noticing he’s a little bloated from that big bottle of Delirium Tremens beer he downed last night, and I’m honestly a little drowsy, way off my normal demanding schedule of sleepin’ most of the day, so it’s a natural thing when I just open up and yawn. It’s a long, enjoyable yawn. Draws a lot of attention, ’cause I’ve got a colossal trap. Bit like a crocodile.

  “Really, Spike?” Bud says. “That’s what you think of the show?” And I yawn again. More relaxin’ with two.

  Meanwhile, a great deal of laughter is ensuing from the crew, the audience, the guests, and Bud. Everybody’s yucking it up—loud. And these are real laughs, not those forced phony ones morning-radio people use to make you think what’s happening is funny when it’s not even close.

  Bud looks at me and I look at him, and we both know we got something hot going, ’cause Bud and me have had that dog–human connection since the day he picked me outta the litter. So he says, very sincerely, “Anything else?” He pauses. “Spike?” What would you do? Obviously, I yawn again, this time on purpose, and sink into the chair to get some much-needed sleep.

  The next day, the High Point Enterprise runs a big picture of the incident. Front page—Bud and me. There I am with my jaws open wide enough to bite a football. The headline: “Meet Spike ‘The Wonder Dog.’”

  Bud loved the ink. When he got to the station the next morning and saw the paper, they said, he sounded orgasmic. And believe me, I know what that sounds like. He drives back to the house, wakes me, shows me my picture, tapes it on
the fridge, tells me I’m now The Wonder Dog, and rushes me back to WGHP.

  I’m on the show again. OK, why not? I yawn, lick his mouth, and smell he’s smoked pot before the show. A Listerine breath strip’s not covering that up, pal. At one point he says, “Remember, coming up today, part two—Cher.” Of course I bark at the mention of Cher. The bark is not yet my full-throated hammer, but it gets attention. He buys in and says, “Spike, you seem to like Cher. Am I right?” So I let my sizable pink tongue slide very, very slowly outta my mouth while panting heavily. The camera zooms in. So I drool. This is easy stuff, really, but it’s greeted with hysteria. You would think I’m Trevor Noah in a dog suit.

  The best thing that happened that day was that people found out what I am. Bud explained. I listened like I didn’t already know—that sort of fake newscaster-concern listening that somehow earns local anchors millions of dollars. You know, like when the female anchor’s being artificially serious trying to wrinkle her cement-hard botoxed brow as she reads the teleprompter about a teenager with multiple stab wounds in the Bronx. The older male anchor’s pretending to care by frowning and nodding solemnly into the camera, while he’s figuring out where to go for dinner: “Hmmmm…stab wounds? Stab wounds? Knives…ah, sushi would be good.”

  The audience, by the way, is looking at me like I’m Snoopy lying on his back saying “love me, love me.” I have ’em right where I want them, and it’s only my second day on the job.

  “Spike is an English Bull Terrier, not a pit bull,” Bud explains, “and quite certainly not a baby pig like some people have been saying.”