By W.R. Jones
Before I get started with today’s story, Saturday I recieved, via mail, a notorized complaint from, guess who, Lisa. Now she claims my images don’t correlate well (the formal complaint said AT ALL) with my writing. Ridiculous, e.g. today’s connection is obvious to the most casual observer. To wit, I’m writing about dogs. This woman looks like she belongs on an 18 wheeler mud flap. Truck drivers like dogs. Nuff said?
Anyway, the images aren’t meant to be illustrations, they are for those people who can’t read and come here to look at the pictures like when you ”read” a People magazine. The writing part is for those who come seeking fine literature that delivers inspirational tales of courage, moral fiber, and parsimony.
When I get home from work and haul out his little harness, Mango positively vibrates (no ladies, he is not for sale). He can’t wait to get started marking his territory. Here is something I find interesting -
when he uses his back yard commode he does not lift his leg. As soon as he hits the streets, up goes the leg. I like that he is conscious of his public image as a killer. I removed the sports magazine from this photo as I did not want to cause undue envy for those visitors whos dogs can’t read.
Our walk is 3.5 miles. After the first block he runs out of water but still lifts his leg sybolically to anything vertical. After 6 blocks he runs out of steam as well and sits waiting to be picked up. I have to carry him the rest of the way. He is not too heavy but carrying him so many miles has given me dog elbow. The only positive note for me is when someone with a big dog passes; I ask them, can they carry their dog like this?
On our route is a BIG dog that HATES us. We can’t see him because he is behind a block wall. We hear his hatred. I know he is big because to make a sound like that you need vocal cords the length of a bass violin. Mango and I torment him because we can. I don’t like his attitude. If I could do it without his seeing me I would like to reach over the wall and poke him in the ribs with a stick. I was always afraid to do this because if he saw my face he might recognise me someday out on a lonely street.
One day we were passing his wall when I looked up the street to see, about 2 to 3 blocks ahead, a MONSTER dog running full out directly at us, his eyes focused on me like a supreme predator. No leash, no owner. My very first thought was that I would have to sacrifice Mango. I really couldn’t see the point of both of us dying, especially me.
It is amazing how fast the mind processes information when faced with danger. In a pair of seconds I realized that if I went home without Mango I’d be finished anyway. My wife wouldn’t feed me anymore. I don’t know how to take care of myself (I’ve always lived the live of a real man after all). I would slowly starve to death.
I put Mango up on the block wall then hoisted (actually jumped like a damn cat) up myself, tearing a button off my sports coat. The wall is only 5 inches wide. I was standing on that 5 inches holding Mango fighting the vertigo caused by the BIG dog that HATES us lunging up from the inside of the wall. He was going berserk in his efforts to have us.
I tried to shout for help but the only thing that came out of my mouth were these little chittering sounds. When monster dog arrived, he put his paws, which reached the top of the wall, up and started wagging his tail. I wanted to get down and kick his ass for scaring us like that but felt the wagging tail might be a lure like those angle fish use. I waited until he left.
When my voice came back to me on the way home I asked Mango, “Hey, Mango, what is that smell? Did you soil yourself too? Let’s not mention this to grandma, some things should be kept between gentlemen.”
He asked how I was going to explain the jacket. I said I’d think of something.
