Minnesota Fuck Machine



“Of course I’ll take him off your hands,” Betty said, leaning down to look in the less-than-spacious pet shelter cage. “He’s gorgeous. You say you can’t get a buyer?”

John shrugged. “It’s the breed, I think. Families don’t want him.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s got any Pit Bull in him,” Betty said. “What is he?”

From within the cage, deep golden eyes stared evenly at her from a broad, black-and-caramel head. A muscular neck led to a long, powerful body. The dog had to be close to a hundred pounds; he might even outweigh Betty herself!

John made an apologetic face. “He’s… a Minnesota Fuck Machine.”

“A Minnesota Fuck Machine?”

“Minnesota Fuck Machine.”

“John, that isn’t a dog breed. I would know,” Betty said. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s on the paperwork, all proper. I’d never heard of it either.”

“No matter. I’d hate to see such a beautiful dog put down. I’ll take him.”

“Thanks, Betty. You’re a life saver. I’ll get the forms.”

John walked off, relieved, and Betty bent down. She held a hand out to the cage so the dog could smell her.

“Minnesota Fuck Machine,” she said. The words had an oddly pleasant rhythm. “I wonder what I should call you?”

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