the chihuahua wand

The mail in the housing development in which I live is deposited and gathered from a central location. Usually, I hit the box on my way home from work. Just as often I cross paths with the North Laveen Hooker. She haunts the mailbox depository, mostly on Sundays. She's prettier than your average truck stop hooker. Stringy blonde hair, ruddy complexion, heels or boots. She stutters and walks at an angle like a crazy dog with rabies. But friendly and, apparently, accommodating.
Last Friday, I pulled up to grab my mail and she comes staggering from behind the block wall of the home adjacent to the depository. She has a crack pipe stuck behind her ear like a pen or pencil, smeared make-up and a chihuahua in tow on leash. The chihuahua makes a run on my ankle. You how those little buggers can be mean and vicious and wreck your entire day but I was prepared.
On the Thursday prior I stopped at the local mercado/carniceria to check on the fresh chorizo and saw, while I was waiting, a Chihuahua Wand. On the shelf, bright, shiny and in need of only four Triple A batteries. Two dollars and ninety nine cents.
Well, the chorizo was two days old so I passed on that but grabbed a six of Tecate and a Chihuahua Wand. What the heck, I thought, everyone down here has a Chihuahua and I may need this.
Well, the North Laveen Hooker approaches with Chihuahua on leash, what do I do? The dog is clearly rabid or just messed up by a century of Mexican inbreeding. I've got the handgun I carry in my truck in case I get in a shoot out with the cops and I've got the Chihuahua Wand. In a moment of lucidity, I grab the Wand. Chihuahua neutralized. If I had batteries.