So I met this guy the other day
who told me how once he was on this road trip, and he was passing through some little mountain town. Apparently, he gets out of his car to go get dinner at this pub, when out of nowhere this dog, he said it was a beagle or something, runs up and bites him right on the ankle, and then takes off running. An older guy was coming out of the pub and sees what happened, and is like “oh shit! The dog that bit you, did it draw blood?”
And at this point, the guy is freaking out, like, was the dog rabid or something?
The old man looks at him gravely and tells him no, it’s worse. He’s cursed. Anyone he bites is doomed to itch constantly. The guy actually starts laughing now, he says “okay, you really had me going there!”
And the old man looks him dead in the eye and says “Don’t leave town tonight. At sundown it’ll start.”
Anyway, so the guy leaves town anyway because this is clearly a crock of crap. But as he’s checking into his hotel a few hours down the road, sure enough he starts itching. And itching. And itching. No way this is a curse, he says.
But it doesn’t go away. He tries showering, he tries oatmeal baths, he eventually even shaves his entire body but nothing works. Even doctors can’t find anything wrong with him.
After months of non stop itching with no relief, he finally decides to go back to the town where he got bit.
He finds the old man at the pub, who says he wondered when he’d be back. Last time this happened the victim was back in a week.
“Oh, sure, that old mongrel is a mean one alright. But you’re in luck, he’s been knocking up the fine lady dogs of this town left and right.”
The guy asks, “why does that make me lucky?”
Turns out, the old man tells him, he has to go find which litter of puppies the cursed beagle sired. So he and the old man go around seeing all the puppies in town. “Grab the runt of the litter an’ give it a cuddle” the old man instructs.
The guy is desperate by now and doesn’t even question. He spends several days hugging puppies, but to no avail.
Then one morning, reading a paper at the local diner, he turns the page with one hand while itching his neck with the other, and sees a classified ad for puppies who were found, abandoned outside the animal shelter the next town over.
He and the old man drive out to meet the pups. They’re a squirmy bumch, but clearly half beagle. The guy grabs for the nearest one, but the old man stops him. You need the runt, he says.
The man looks the littlest ball of pudge, suddenly apprehensive. “We don’t have to hurt it, do we?”
“Hurt it?! Yer gonna adopt it, sonny.” The old man cackles.
So the guy takes the tiniest puppy, picks him up, and rubs his face into the fur.
Miraculously, the itch is gone! He shouts and laughs for sheer joy! Itching relieved, suddenly he wants a scientific explanation. Why did that work?
“Simple.” Said the old man. “The best cure is the little heir of the dog that bit ya.”
