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Dogs have a sense of self-consciousness that is far out of proportion to their intelligence, and Cujo was disgusted with himself.
He was a Saint Bernard in his prime, five years old, nearly two hundred pounds in weight, and now, on the morning of June 16, 1980, he was pre-rabid.
Something called a Grimace.
And this time he came for Joe Camber’s balls.
That money did not come by accident; that it almost always resulted from some sustained act of will, and that will was the core of character.
“Can I have a Dr Pepper when we get home, Mommy?”
His erection was back now, raging.
