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If ever there was a time that Hank Griswwald enjoyed more than any other, it was Friday evening. The Siberian Husky always made sure to enjoy himself after work; usually by having a drink or ten, but he still had to be careful not to end up hungover the next morning. That all went out the window on Fridays, when he could get so incredibly shitfaced and not have to worry about pissing off his boss the next morning. Fridays were pure bliss.

The Husky looked at his watch, seeing that it was just after five o'clock when the city bus came up to the bus stop near his place of employment. Getting on, the canine was pleased as punch. After a forty hour work week of crunching numbers in the accounting department, the dog was ready to unwind, and luckily for him, the bus ride was only ten minutes.

Getting off, Hank looked up at the sign that read "BUD'S BAR". Rubbing his paws together, he opened the door to his favorite watering hole. Instantly, the sound of gritty blues blaring from the jukebox filled his ears. The thick layer of cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils as he adjusted his vision to the dimly lit environment.

"I'm back," yelled the Husky as he walked walked up to the center of the bar and sat down. A squat, middle-aged bulldog came up to him, pounding his fist on the bar.

"Hank Griswald," said the bulldog in a gruff voice. "How the hell are you?"

"Can't complain," said the Husky as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one up. "Take a beer to start out with."

"Huh," said the bulldog, filling a mug up to the brim with an amber colored ale. "Guess you're gonna be stayin' awhile?"

"Course I am," said Hank before taking another drag of his cigarette. "It's Friday, ain't it?"

"Sure is," said Bud. "Place'll be hoppin' in no time."

Hank took a deep drink of his beer and wiped the suds from his whiskers. "Yeah, bet all the guys will be here too."

"Sure they will," said Bud, looking down at Hank's empty mug. "You want another one?"

"Hit me," said Hank, like he was talking to a black jack dealer in a Las Vegas casino. Bud shook his head at Husky's comment.

"Here you are, you drunk," joked the bulldog. Hank just laughed at the bulldog's words. It was true, Hank was indeed a drunk. All of the patrons at Bud's Bar were well acquainted with the Husky's penchant for consuming massive quantities of spirited beverages. It was the Husky's drinking that led to his license being revoked, causing him to need the services of public transportation, not that that bothered him in the slightest.

"How's Harriet?" asked Bud, placing an elbow against the bar.

"In heat," said Hank, now feeling the effects of the beer.

"Oh?" said Bud, raising an eyebrow. "You getting' any?"

Hank shot the bulldog a nasty look. He didn't appreciate the bulldog asking about what his sex life with his wife was like. "Not that it's any of your business," said Hank. "But she's been making me sleep out on the couch. Says she's not ready for pups with me yet."

"That so?" said Bud, hardly surprised that Harriet would want a litter of pups to be brought up in a house with someone like Hank.

"Oh well," said Hank, finishing off another mug. "I'm sure she'll come around."

"Course she will," said Bud, looking down at the Husky's empty mug. "Another one?"

"Nah," said Hank. "Gimme a scotch on the rocks."

"You're the boss," said Bud, reaching down for a bottle of scotch. The bulldog threw some cubes of ice in the glass and handed it over to the Husky, who went about nursing it. Hank crushed the remainder of his cigarette, then pulled out another one and lit it up, adding to the already thick cloud of tobacco smoke that always seemed to hang around the bar. As he took another drag from it, he felt a paw smack his back. Turning around, he saw a familiar face smiling at him.

"Godry!" yelled the Husky. "How the hell are you?"

Gordy, a golden retriever of short stature, sat down next to Hank. He was a regular at Bud's, and one of Hank's closest drinking buddies. The Husky motioned for Bud to bring the Retriever a mug of beer, which the bulldog quickly brought him.

"How's the accounting business?" asked Gordy, taking a sip of beer.

"Boring as hell," said Hank, laughing. "How's the construction business?"

"Busy, now that it's summer," remarked Gordy. "This is the first night this week I've had a chance to hit the bars."

"Then you're not living right," said Hank. "Guy that can only go to the bar once a week needs to check his priorities."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Gordy. "Least I still got my license."

"Yeah, fuck you," said Hank jokingly. "You got any quarters? I gotta pick some good stuff on the jukebox."

The golden retriever reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pawful of coins, giving them to Hank. Getting off his bar stool, Hank realized that he was a little tipsier than he had thought. Making sure that he was steady, the husky walked over to the jukebox Starring into the glass window that covered the song titles, Hank put a dollars worth of change into the machine and selected four songs. Content that he would now be listening to "good music", the Husky made his way back to his place at the bar, sitting down next to Gordy.

"There we go," said Hank. "Now we'll get to hear some good shit."

"More than likely just shit," remarked Gordy.

Hank cocked his head, giving the retriever a dirty look. "The fuck's your problem today anyway?"

"Relax," said Gordy. "I'm just messin' with you. Jesus, I swear you act like such a dick when you've had a few."

"Nah," said Hank, putting his arm around his drinking buddy. "Everybody round here knows what a swell guy I am, right, Bud?"

"Whatever you say, Hank," said the bulldog. In truth, Bud thought the Husky to be a pain in the ass at times, but with the amount of money Hank spent at his establishment on a weekly basis, Bud wasn't about to say anything to upset such a loyal customer. The bulldog went back to slinging suds for the husky and retriever, until something caught his eye.

"Oh shit," said Bud in a low tone.

"What?" asked Hank, putting a cigarette up to his mouth.

"Look who's back in town," said Bud, motioning his head towards the front door.

Hank and Gordy turned around in their stools. Bud was right to be startled. There, walking into the bar was a tall, muscular German Shepherd, dressed in blue jeans, black leather boots and sporting a leather jacket. All the merriment that Hank and Gordy had been enjoying to this point was put on hold. George Berger, the German Shepherd who'd just stepped into the bar had quite the reputation as a trouble maker, bad ass and brawler. He spent much of his life in and out of prison, and showed fear to no one. Not wanting to start any trouble with the German Shepherd, Gordy and Hank felt it best to turn around and mind their own business.

"How's it goin', George?" asked Bud as the German Shepherd approached the bar.

"Not bad," said George. "Gimme a nice tall one, would ya?"

"Comin' right up," said Bud.

Hank tried not to appear nervous as George was standing right next to him. He might have been three sheets to the wind, but even alcohol wasn't enough to make him want to start trouble with George. With his eyes straight ahead, he just minded his own business, but even this wasn't enough to save him. George, who'd smoked his cigarette almost down to the filter, looked over at the Husky, having seen him here on more than one occasion. With a grin, George waited until the Husky was about to take another drink before flicking the remainder of his cigarette into the mug. Hank looked down, seeing the butt swimming around in his drink. He looked over at George; wanting to do something about what the German Shepherd had just done. Bud, having witnessed what happened, brought over two mugs of beer.

"Here ya are, George," he said, giving the German Shepherd the first beer. "And another for you, Hank. I saw that Mr. Berger accidentally dropped his cigarette in your mug, so this one's on the house."

Hank took the mug, all the while looking over at the grinning German Shepherd. "Sorry," said George without an ounce of sincerity in his tone. "My paw slipped."

"Don't worry about it," said Hank, trying to hide the fear in his voice. He knew that George could be set off by even a minor provocation, and he didn't feel like getting his ass kicked tonight, or any other night for that matter. Looking over at Gordy, he decided to continue a conversation with his drinking buddy to take his mind off the fact that George was sitting right next to him. The longer he talked, the more it worked. Fifteen minutes had went by before Hank looked over his shoulder and saw that the German Shepherd was no longer sitting next to him.

"Where'd he go?" Hank asked Bud.

"Left," said Bud, getting yet another

"Went to the John or not here anymore?" asked Hank.

"Don't worry," said Bud. "He just had the one beer and left; said he's got a busy night ahead of him."

"Good," said Hank, letting his true feelings finally surface. "I can't stand that asshole."

"He didn't cause no trouble this time," said Bud.

"Yeah," said Hank, taking yet another drink of beer. "I'd really like to bust him in the chops."

"Be the last thing you ever did, aside from gettin' killed," remarked Gordy.

Hank glared at the Golden Retriever. "You could help, you know."

"And end up in the funeral parlor like you?" retorted Gordy. "No thank you."

"Hank," said Bud. "Let me tell you, the only time you sprout balls is when you've had too much and when the person you wanna fight is long gone. Trust me, don't start lettin' your mouth right checks you know your ass can't cash."

"Whatever," said the Husky. "You up for a game of pool, Gord?"

"Sure," said the Golden Retriever.

For as much alcohol as Hank had consumed, he was suprisingly stable and articulate. Years of hard drinking had given him plenty of practice at that. With the balls now racked up on the table, Hank decided to take the first shot. His was a hard brake, sending two solid balls flying into the pockets.

"Looks like you've got stripes, Gord," said the Husky, quite proud of his first shot in the game. Hank went to take another shot, but missed, though he was still flying high from the first shot.

"So I do," said Gordy, putting his cue down and lining it up with the white cue ball. The Golden Retriever gave a quick snap on the cue, and sent a white and green striped ball into the side pocket of the table. "Bud was right about you, you know."

"About what?" said Hank, taking a cube of chalk and rubbing the end of his cue with it.

"About you being a big pussy," said Gordy, who'd successfully managed to sink another striped ball into the pocket.

"Fuck you," said Hank. "You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"The hell I don't," said the Golden Retriever. "You do this shit all the time. Somebody pisses you off, then you start talking shit after they leave. It's pathetic."

"You know what?" said Hank, putting his cue down. "If you're gonna talk like that, then I don't wanna play with you."

"Fine," sighed Gordy. "I think you need to go home anyway. You're just gonna get so staggering drunk that you'll end up fallin' on your face."

"Whatever," said the Husky. "I'm callin' a cab and heading out of here."

"Suit yourself," said Gordy. "I'm outta here."

Normally Bud would have asked Gordy if he wanted a cab, but the Golden Retriever had only two beers that night, so he let him go. Hank decided it was time to call a cab to take him home, but when he spoke with the dispatcher, they said there was an hour wait. The Husky said he could wait, but instead of just sitting around the bar doing nothing, he went back to chugging down beer after beer. By the time the cab arrived, Bud was forced to help the drunken Husky outside, which was a routine he'd long since gotten used to. He gave the cabbie Hank's address and they were off. By the time the cab arrived at the Husky's house, Hank was passed out and the cabbie was forced to rouse the inebriated dog. Hank blinked his eyes and saw the face of the none too happy cabbie staring at him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and gave the driver the fare, along with a sizable tip. Yawning, he got out of the car and went inside his house.

Harriet, Hank's wife was already in bed, and she never allowed him to sleep with her when he'd been drinking. Not that that mattered tonight, as Harriet was in heat and did not want her husband to get her pregnant right now. Stumbling around the living room, Hank finally laid down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," said the drunken dog. "I'd like to kick your ass, George Berger," he mumbled before passing out again.

Once the affects of the alcohol had worn off, George woke up. He grumbled as he sat up, feeling indigestion from all that he'd drank. He stood up, and something caught his eye. A large Harley Davidson motorcycle was parked in his driveway. Hank didn't have any friends with such a bike, and something else was bothering him too. There was a moaning sound coming from his bedroom. Hank could tell that it was Harriet making the noise. Still not fully awake, the Husky stumbled to his bedroom door and opened it.

Hank couldn't believe what he was seeing. Harriet was making moaning noises alright, and that was because the female Husky was on her back, mounted by someone Hank had seen earlier that night.

"Hi, Hank," said George Berger, looking over at Hank and grinning.

All Hank could do was stand there, completely flabbergasted by what his eyes were witnessing. Harriet, his wife of ten years, was on her back, being fucked by another male. Hank watched as George plowed his wife's cunt like there was no tomorrow. The German Shepherd had everything that Hank didn't. Hank was flabby from all the years of drinking, and his coat had lost much of its luster. George was big, with rock hard muscles and a shiny coat. Hank looked in between the German Shepherd's legs and saw that George was far bigger than he was, and his wife's moans were a pretty good indicator that George was giving it to her like her husband never could. Harriet thrashed her head around as the big German Shepherd spread her vaginal walls like they'd never been moved before, all the while Hank just stood there, not doing anything, not saying a word, but that wasn't the case with George and Harriet.

"God . . . fuck me . . . George," the female Husky cried out.

"Yeah . . . givin' you some real dick, aren't I, bitch?" growled the German Shepherd.

"Give me the dick, give me the dick!" screamed Harriet.

The bed shook as George fucked the female dog harder and harder. George panted, letting his slobber drip down on Harriet's breasts, which flopped around from being boned so hard by the big dog. Harriet screamed at the top of her lungs as she felt her own orgasm wash over her body, but even then, George had not finished. With Hank still looking on, he kept fucking the female Husky until he was at his end. Sticking his head high in the air, he howled as he climaxed. The German Shepherd slowed his thrusts down until he was finally drained. Hank watched in horror, having not noticed it before from being in shock, but George wasn't wearing a condom. As he pulled out of Harriet's pussy, Hank saw his wife's snatch completely covered in George's seed. Still, he stood there as George got up and put his clothes on.

"God, I needed that," said Harriet, still trying to recover from the experience.

"Glad to help," said George, putting his pants back on.

"I bet Husky and Shepherd mixed pups will look so cute," said Harriet.

George looked right at Hank, grinning. "I'm sure they will be cute," he said. "Bye, Hank. Thanks for letting me use your wife tonight, but I got other bitches that need me still."

Hank walked out to the living room and saw George start up his bike and take off. He slumped down on the couch. Bud was right about him. His wife was back in their bedroom with another guy's seed in her, no doubt soon to be pregnant with his pups, and he didn't try to stop him. He was just a big pussy. That thought just ate away at him, tearing at his masculinity. He'd been such a drunken lout that he'd let his own marriage turn to shit and now he was paying the price for it. The more he thought about it, the more it filled him with a terrible rage. He dug his claws into the couch, tearing at the leather upholstery. He wasn't going to stand for this.

Standing up, he stomped back to his bedroom, seeing his wife still lying naked on their bed. She looked over at him, not an ounce of guilt or remorse showing on her face.

"What do you want?" she huffed at him.

"How," said Hank, trying to control his temper. "How could you sleep with another guy?"

"How?" said Harriet, laughing. "Because I needed a real man in my life, not some flacid, beer-swilling dope like you. You're such a little omega dog, Hank."

"I'm gonna call a cab so I can go to the drug store," said Hank, his paws clenched into fists of rage.

"What for?" sighed Harriet.

"I'm getting you the morning after pill," growled Hank. "You're gonna swallow it right in front of me."

"The hell I am," said Harriet. "I'm having Geroge's pups, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"That's what you think, you slut," said Hank.

Harriet gasped as Hank jumped on top of her. The female Husky struggled as she felt her husband's paws wrap around her neck. She kicked and flailed her arms, but Hank's grip was too powerful. For too long, the male Husky had been letting people walk all over him, and he hadn't done a thing about it. Desperately trying to breathe, Harriet saw the terrible wrath in her husband's eyes as he choked the life out of her. She saw the burning vengeance in his eyes as he squeezed harder and harder. Hank watched as the fight slowly left his wife. Her body went limp, her eyes glazed over. Panting, Hank let go of his wife's lifeless body. Realizing what he'd done, Hank didn't feel any shame at all. For once, he'd stuck up for himself, and it felt great. He rubbed his paws together, laughing hysterically as he went to the the bedroom closet and took a shoebox out from the top shelf. Taking the lid off, he found the little snub nosed .38 Special he'd bought years ago. Opening the cylinder, he saw that it was still loaded with hollow point bullets. Grinning from ear to ear, he closed the cylinder and tucked the gun neatly into his pants. Though he wasn't allowed to legally drive, he didn't care at this point. He took the keys to his wife's car and headed out the door.

"And now," he said, still grinning. "I'm going to take care of your lover man."