Batilda Rotbreath had such godawful halitosis that her dog went downtown to the ASPCA to hire a hit dog to take Batilda out. Her dog, Rowlf, couldn't sleep inside the house what with the smell of Batilda's breath. It was like a mixture of sulfur, rancid meat, skunk spray, and essence of a fifty-year-old Ron Jeremy. This human had to go.
After a one-hour meeting, Rowlf was assigned Hitman Harry, a schnauzer who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan before retiring. He had a skill-set that made him quite the killing machine, although he was getting old, and his sight was beginning to fade.
Rowlf agreed to a fee of five gallons of kibble: one gallon now, and four after Batilda was disposed of.
Four days later, as Batilda lay snoring (and polluting the zip code where she lived), Harry met Rowlf at the front door. The two dogs put on their gas masks and entered through the doggy door. They crept up the stairs, down the hall, and slowly opened the door to Batilda's room. The door creaked--not too loud--but just loud enough to disturb the stanky one. She sat up, and in the little moonlight that danced through the window her silhouette looked just like Saddam Hussein. Which triggered a flashback in Harry.
"Echo Charlie Seven!" Harry squealed, over and over. Rowlf panicked, and tried to get Harry out of the room.
In the chaos Harry wet himself and accidentally shot off his gun. The bullet struck Rowlf in the face, ripping off his gas mask and 62% of his nose. Harry ran off, leaving the injured dog alone.
In her confusion, Batilda had assumed that the other dog was trying to kill her and that Rowlf was protecting her. To reward him, she bought him ten gallons of kibble and a Blu-ray copy of Turner and Hooch.
And in the end, Rowlf was fine; Batilda's fetor didn't bother him anymore since his nose injury kept him from smelling it.
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