Weredog Tart (23)

   
   "Weredog Tart (23)"
   
   Lance was like:  "In vino veritas."  
   Siria was like:  "I'm Catholic--what do you mean about wine?"
   Lance further pushed:  "Yeah, my overly sober, Irish Mom is probably giving your Dad the business for drinking, though he seems a sublime drunk--no offense."
   Siria pushed:  "He's not a drunk.  Wine to make man's heart happy did King David proclaim, and his son King Solomon with prescribing the downtrodden wine.  And all my Dad drinks is beer nowadays; plus, he is downtrodden.  Lost the love of his life--for real, not just words to get in her pants.  Watched her die slowly, there every moment, at her side while the help didn't help.  Held her hand, said prayers, and burned candles.  Willed her to live 7 years through it all, making her laugh, feeding her, brushing her, washing her, like in the French movie Amour; indeed, he was tested, but never broke."
   Lance nodded:  "Anyway, I guess the cops will be investigating my Dad's death.  The crap will hit the fan."
   Siria knew that wouldn't happen.  Fang marks from a weredog would stupefy the bumbling, brutal cops.  Yup, weredog lives matter and all that crap.  If only everyone had true love and loyalty--nope, they're out for themselves.