Bikes and Dogs

One of the guys in our club sent this out in an email yesterday and I just had to put it on here because we have all been or will be up against that dog. This is a classic. He really needs to become a blogger!



Okay, yesterday I met a dog that did not like me nor listen to me.  The teeth inside the huge mouth of the Great Dane, reminded me of why I always hated Scooby Doo.  Goliath stood taller than my bike, perhaps 8 feet taller.  His teeth looked like implants from a Great White shark.  I won't say I had fear in me; I had resolve to keep both legs.  The coming bloody fight would not be pretty, but I intended to persevere and hoped there would be more dog blood than human blood at the scene of our demise.  Vegas would not have bet on me,but I would.  I had real anger that the people did not come out and control the beast that forbid my movement in any direction.  If I took one step backwards, Godzilla took two angry steps forward.  My retreat emboldened his courage.

When did I know my destiny.  Oh, at the time he was two feet from me with jaws agape as we both looked at my right leg dangling like meat on a stick. I think it was then that I realized he was ticked that Susan Cormier, on her fancy, new, and faster bike, got past.  I remember the old joke, you don't have to outrun the bear, just the other hunter.  Away, Susan rode...how I longed to join her.  But reality and fate had me in peril as soon watched from a distance that only binoculars could observe.  I heard the dog actually swear that I would not be so fortunate as the one on the bike with wings. Recognizing a tasty meal when I see me, at a speed that would make Superman seem slow, I dismounted and put the metal between the beast and the food chain.  Not a second earlier I had a nice bike.  The thought of owning an expensive (to me it is) bike had left me.  In a flash of teeth, I realized I owned one heck of an unwieldy club.  I knew exactly how I intended to get the whole damn mess down his throat...and down his throat it was going.  I only sweated, I mean waited, for the moment.  Susan, at her distant perch, looked on as if she had paid for the cheap tickets at Madison Square Gardens.

In time, it got better.  Well, no it didn't; who am I kidding?  The dog had absolutely nothing better to do and kept pressing me.  Susan pulled out her trail mix and water and settled to watch the brawl from the safety of her perch.  I could hear her snickering that it served me right for my earlier comments of how to talk nicely to a dog.

After several minutes, it could have been days, time flies when your life flashes in front of you, Scooby Doo's dipstick step-sibling, who looked something like an ugly bulldog, joined the fray.  From a distance, I thought what does this little twit want.  As it got closer and I could discern the bulldog features, I thought, you have got to be kidding me.  Two dogs and both have mouths that could swallow watermelons.  I only had one club and
that one was definitely committed to the largest threat.  When the runty came yapping to me, I got indignant and threatened to kill and rape his entire family if he didn't back off; Winston Churchill, the jerk, backed off, at least a bit.  But the other garnered courage from the runts distraction.  The ugly one remained on my side of the bike and distracted me.  When I turned my
attention to the ugly one, the ape with the big teeth pressed the fight.  The mutts were tag teaming me.  I couldn't believe it.  My entire day had gone like this; unbelievable. I couldn't believe how quickly my ride turned to a fight in the trenches.

I remember yelling for the owners to come out and get their dog.  I say dog, as I had dismissed Ugly's threat.  Ugly could just bite me, Scooby could swallow me whole and then drop my remains where no one would notice.  The owners never appeared.  I then yelled that next time I would carry my concealed permit and one of my guns and that would be the last encounter anyone would endure with the beasts from hell.  That produced nothing, not a neighbor, not a gosh darn thing.  I believe Marmaduke might have snickered.
Eventually (just short of eternity-at least for one of us) Marmaduke backed up to his yard and I eased toward Stagecoach Elementary and Campground Rd.

I will be armed from now on with something better than a bike: gun, knife,pepper spray, rocks, hand grenades, dog treats injected with exlax, whatever it takes.  If I had a bike like Cindy's, I would just take my handle bars off and beat the hell out of every dog I pass.  I love dogs but would rather kill one than take a bite.  In fact, I encourage all of you to kill at least one dog a day.  If that's offensive to you, start small: kill an ant, then a small dog (like the poodle that bit me when I was a teen); develop your inner
instincts to kill and just keep working your way up until you can kill a German Shepherd (like the one that bit me also when I was a teen).  Don't stop there, mentally prepare yourself until killing Scooby Doo is child's play and a great day is going Postal at the local dog pound.  Hey, what do you mean I have issues?  Anger management?

Rank Roo for Ristening,

Marty