Thursday, October 27, 2005

Doggie doo in your shoe


Aye que mal perro

I’ve been commuting to work on my bike since I dislocated my shoulder in May (mountain biking mishap) and since that time I’ve developed a relationship with a black and white dog on my route. The relationship started out healthy, a friendly chase and a sprint on the bike. One morning the dog was asleep on the curb and I thought I'd return the favor of an endorphin rush so as I passed, I leaned over and yelled AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He didn’t like that.

He fell off the curb and came up barking like mad but I was too far away for a decent chase.

The next morning the bugger saw me coming from about 20 yards away so I hightailed it right at him and peeled away at the last minute. He couldn’t match the speed or the turn. I thought we were friends again.

About a week later he saw me coming from 70 yards away and went into a crouch

“Oh shit” I thought to myself. Oh shit indeed, he knew my trick and was ready for me and damn near got a chunk.

This friendship is over; he wanted a taste.

I called animal control and in a rare display of gubbermint inaction, I mean, in action they were at the house on my way home. Owner was cited yadda yadda. I thought my troubles were over. Nay.

On Tuesday he was back sporting a collar (and hopefully shots). OK, the fukcer is getting mace this time. I get off the bike and this makes him stop in his tracks and just out of reach of the spray but I let a burst go anyway. Hmm, I should at least be able to sense the stuff. Nada. I sniff the nozzle, nada. But he backs away and I ride off with my skin intact.




Animal control is called again and a trip to the police uniform store is made to secure some real Mace. Horale mal perro – bring it on - I’m ready

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