Dog Training The American Male




Dog Training the American Male





Copyright © 2013
by L. A. Knight. All rights reserved.


This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.


No part of this
book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to:

[email protected]


Visit L. A.
Knight on the World Wide Web at:


Ebook Layout by
Stanley Tremblay,





Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56






From the author…


This is the first
of a series of novels in which I hope to launch a comedic trek into the
publishing world. If you were expecting a romance novel, then you’re humping
the wrong leg.
Dog Training the American Male
(loosely based on actual events
and experiences) is more
Wedding Crashers
War and Peace
if you find yourself relating to any of these bizarre characters then I’m
guessing you’re either married, own a dog, live in Boca Raton, or use
of Gray
as a coffee table book. If it generates a laugh then you possess a
superior intellect and I’ve done my job.

My father believed that laughter
is the best medicine. He gave me my sense of humor and a lifetime of love and
wisdom and left us far too soon. This book was my therapy in dealing with his
passing; a percentage of the proceeds of which will go to the foundation at the
South Florida Bone Marrow and Stem Cell Transplant Institute which is involved
in an exciting new Phase I & II FDA-approved protocol designed to cure solid
tumor cancers. If you’d like to learn more or place a donation, please go to . Their success would put a smile on my face
 . . . 
could save a loved one’s life.

My thanks to Stanley Tremblay, editor
Barbara Becker, the amazing James Gelet, and the kind fans of author Steve
Alten who probably purchased the e-book just to read the first two chapters of
his next novel. I hope you’ll give
Dog Training
a read after you rush to
the back of the book to read the free excerpt. Please spread the word if you
, or better yet post a review at Amazon to combat the dog
haters/cat lovers among us who have no lives, thus the time and energy to surf
Amazon and castrate hard-working authors like a frustrated community college English
teacher stuck in the house on a weekend bender with no cable.

Yeah, you know who you are Dr.
Schecter! C-minus my ass!




L. A. Knight









Nancy Beach’s hazel
eyes snapped open in panic, her heart pounding as if it was chugging blood from
a water cooler.
You fell asleep! What time is it? Did you miss the interview?

She nearly lost her breakfast
when she saw the credits rolling on the greenroom’s flat screen television.
Then she saw the digital clock.

Nine-fifty seven. Oh, God . . . thank
you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

She realized she was no longer
alone in the
Today Show
guest waiting room. An angelic child with blonde
curls occupied the chair to her left, the eight-year-old’s feet dangling over a
cushion as she read the Wall Street Journal.

Impressed, Nancy asked, “Are you
really reading that?”

“The future looks bleak. Mother
says I need to be prepared. Why is that disgusting man staring at you?”

Nancy turned to her right where a
Hell’s Angel
biker was gazing at her from across the fake
glass coffee table like a Rottweiler in heat. In return, she offered a polite
smile. “Is there something on your mind?”

 The biker grinned, continuing to
stare at the perky mounds of flesh pressing against her cream-colored blouse.

Kathy Lee and Hoda
in one minute. Do you really think it’s necessary to make me feel so
uncomfortable before my interview?”

 The little girl folded back her
page, glancing at the Fortune 500 stocks. “He can’t make you feel anything. Why
are you giving him all your power?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to

“He’s a mongrel. He doesn’t
possess the social capabilities to reason.”

Nancy whispered, “But he only has
one leg.”

“Yes, and he’s mentally raping
you with the one on the right. Tell him he either takes a hike, or you’ll punt
his frank and beans up his asshole with your size eight Pradas.”

The biker’s smug smile
evaporated. Struggling to stand using his crutch, he hobbled into the corridor,
grumbling to himself.

Nancy’s flesh tingled as the
theme music for
The TODAY Show with Kathy Lee and Hoda
pumped out of the
flat screen television.

 The little girl continued to scan
the stock index while offering advice. “Predators sense fear. Are you really
ready for your interview? Those two bitches will eat you alive if you don’t
bring your A game.”

“I’m ready.”

“You’d better be more than ready.
Your Arbitron ratings are in the toilet.
The TODAY Show
booking is manna
from heaven . . . a make-it-or-break-it moment.”

“I prepped for weeks. I’ve got my
six success points down-pat, and two really amusing antidotal stories – one for
single women, one for married ladies. I’m just not sure how to get the men interested.”

 “I suppose you could flash them
your tits; it’s keeping them interested that always gets you in trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dark clouds are forming on your
horizon . . .sorry, just reading your horoscope. You’re a Libra,
yes? I saw it on your Facebook bio. Uh-oh.” The child pointed to the television
where Hoda and Kathy Lee were taste-testing wine with their first guest -- a French

Nancy watched, horrified. “Look
at them! They’re sucking down
Chateau Margaux
like it was drawn from the
Fountain of Youth. They’ll be toasted by the time—”

“Mrs. Beach, we’re ready for
you.” The associate producer, a black woman in a navy collared shirt, khaki
pants, headphones and sneakers entered the greenroom.

“It’s Dr. Beach, actually. I have
a doctorate and an MBA . . . it should be in my intro.”

“Got it right here. If you’ll follow
me, and watch your step.”

“Dead woman walking,” muttered
the blonde-haired eight-year-old, turning another page.

Nancy followed the associate producer
down a restricted access corridor past the make-up room. “That little girl –
who is she?”

“Just another child prodigy
destined for mediocrity.” The producer stopped at the stage-right entrance of
Studio A. “Wait here.”

A sound man joined them, clipping
the business end of a pencil eraser-size microphone to the collar of Nancy’s
blouse, the battery pack to the back of her charcoal-gray skirt.

Through a maze of booms, bright
lights, and mobile cameras trailing thick black power cords, she spotted her
quarry. Kathy Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb were “in-commercial” while an assistant
prepped them for their next segment.

Nancy closed her eyes; mentally
reciting her radio host mantra like it was the Lord’s Prayer:
I am the
keeper of my own fate, emancipating myself from the self-imposed bonds of my gender.
I am the keeper of my own fate, emancipating myself from the self-imposed bonds
of my gender. I am the keeper of my own fate  . . .

“And we’re back. Hoda, I just
love Miami, I wish we could stay here more than a week. Do you love Miami as
much as I do?”

“Absolutely. But do you know what
I love more than Miami, Kathy Lee? Thursdays. And today is Thursday, which
means it’s time for another episode of
Okay—Not Okay

“Right you are, Rooda woman . . . oops.
Did I just say Rooda?”

“You called me rude!”

“It was the wine, my lips are
numb. You know I’d never call you rude . . . unless of
course you made a comment about my belly flab.”

Nancy’s pulse ticked upward.
on, ladies, I’m losing precious seconds of air time.

“Anyway, Ho-down, this morning
we’re going to be discussing relationships.”

“Which brings us to our next
guest, a relationship counselor who hosts a local radio show in West Palm Beach
Love’s a Beach.
Let’s welcome . . . Dr. Nancy

The producer gestured.

Nancy walked into the blinding
lights and audience applause. She waved to no one in particular then took the
vacant stool on Kathy Lee’s left, her eyes straying to the two Teleprompters.

“Love’s a Beach
 . . . I
love that, don’t you, Hoda?”

“It’s perky. She’s perky. How old
are you? Fifteen?”

Nancy maintained her grin until
her cheeks twitched, waiting for the audience’s laughter to subside. “Actually,
I’m twenty-six, with a doctorate degree from Penn.”

Education established. First success
point down, five to go.

Kathy Lee looked impressed.
“Penn, wow. Were you called in to console those poor victims assaulted by that
creepy football coach, Jerry Sandusky?”

“That was Penn
Kathy Lee.”

“Okay. So were you?”

“No. I’m actually a relationship
and intimacy specialist. My radio show, which airs on WOWF 1160 AM weekdays
from noon ‘til three counsels women to better empower them in their business
and personal relationships with the Y chromosome . . . 

Points two and three down, three
to go . . .

Hoda nodded to the audience.
“Empowering women in their relationships with the Y’s; that really is so

Kathy Lee smirked. “Believe me, I
ask myself
all the time. Why, Frank? Why? Why? Why?”

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