I saw a bumper sticker once that said, “ Don’t worry, things can always get worse!” It would seem that perhaps I needed that bumper sticker right now.
My angry, laundry-wielding neighbor and her extra-large German Sheppard both stared at me. I had nothing to say, as I looked back at them half over my shoulder, busy trying not to get run over by my own car. After all, what could I say? Yes, I am the one who left this mess right in front of your house?
However, for perhaps the first time that morning, the gods smiled down upon me, (or so I thought. Turns out they had better things in store for me than angry old ladies. But I didn’t know that at the time.) The woman’s expression quickly changed to one of understanding, and she asked if I needed any help. She offered that she had a little truck and a tow rope, and if I needed she could pull me up the street.
Exhausted, and happy that she no longer seemed upset with me, I told her that would be great. She informed me that she just needed to hang the last few items of clothing out to dry, and then she would get her truck and tow strap. With that, she turned back around and proceeded to finish her laundry hanging.
Remember that big dog I told you about? He, unlike his owner, did not turn his back to me. Oh no, he was very interested in me.
You ever have one of those days when it goes from bad, to worse, to un-fricken- believable? This is where the un-frickin-believable part comes in.
I should probably tell you here that I am not afraid of dogs. I never have been. I always seem to get along with them. However, I have been bitten twice by dogs. Both times by German Shepherds.
Still, I wasn’t really worried by this one. He seemed friendly enough, maybe just curious. Normally, when a strange dog approaches me and doesn’t seem upset, I usually hold out my hand, palm down, for them to sniff, and that seems to satisfy them. That greeting was not open to me at this time, however, as both my hands, and the rest of me too, for that matter, were busy keeping me from being run over by my own car.
So all I could do was just lean against the car in that awkward position and wait for Laundry Lady to finish up and rescue me while her dog came over. Did I mention he was big? As he ambled over to me, I realized just how big he was. He weighed well over a hundred pounds. Probably like a buck twenty. Considering I weighed around 160, that’s a lot of dog. He was acting a little strange, and I really wasn’t sure what his intentions were, so I was keeping a close eye on him.
Little did I know, I was about to find out exactly what was on his mind.
Suddenly, without warning, this big German Sheppard mounted me! His fore arms and sharp claws dug into my sides through my thin t-shirt, leaving scratches all along my ribs. His hot, smelly breath panted heavily in my ear as he assaulted me mightily from behind. I could feel his hips and legs bumping vigorously against the back of mine as he humped me for all he was worth. And let me tell you, he was worth a lot at that point. It was savage. It was brutal. It was rape!
Un. Friggin. Believable.
You ever get to the point during a day where things are going so wrong that nothing really surprises you anymore? Where every bad thing that happens is almost funny? Where you get almost delirious and everything just makes you say “That figures.” It was here, at this point in my day of going from worse to un-friggin-believable, that I reached that point.
I remember vividly, at that time, struggling to not be knocked down by this large dog’s rear assault on me, defenseless to fend him off, lest we both get run over by my car, looking up at the bright blue desert morning sky , with its wisps of high, thin clouds here and there, and thinking, “Figures.” The dog’s stinky panting in my face and his thrusting both became more powerful and faster as he hammered away with all his might, I just stared up at the sky, mentally shaking my head, resigned to my fate as this dog’s bitch.
Just as I thought that this morning could not possibly get any better, I hear Laundry Lady gasp out behind me and then yell out, “ Oh my God! Bubba! Get off him!”
Great. Figures. Not only am I getting totally raped by a large dog while I am defenseless , but his name is Bubba. It’s like some bad prison scene or something. I am not even surprised any more. I half expect to see another dog come up and trade a pack of smokes to Bubba for the next round.
Mercifully, Laundry Lady managed to get Bubba off of me right before, I’m sure, the money shot. Saying the whole while, “ I’m so sorry! Bubba-what’s gotten to you?!” Well, I don’t know to this day what got into Bubba, but I do know what Bubba got into…
You know something? The rest of that day is mostly just a blur. I mean really, how do you top that? I remember that somewhere along there, Laundry Lady got her truck and tow strap and her and Bubba drug my junk back up the street, Bubba staring out the truck window at me the entire time, probably with some remorse at not getting to quite finish the job he had started. Or perhaps with satisfaction knowing that, money shot or not, he had defiantly made me his bitch that morning, and nobody was gonna forget it. Somehow the friggin Baja Bug made it back into my garage, leaving a nasty oil slick across the driveway and a big, slippery puddle in the garage. I got to work, very late of course. And had to tell everyone there exactly why I was late. Bubba, needless to say, became an instant celebrity at my work, much to my dismay.
Anyway, as Ron White would say, I told all that to tell you this: Remember where we started this whole story? No, not with me running late for work one morning. Years after that, me showing up to meet my sister after one of her classes at the local college. Remember I said I met one of her class mates as well? Well, the three of us got to talking- myself, my sister Janet, and this classmate of hers. I had never met this classmate of Janet’s before. Yet somehow, early on in the conversation, I told this story to that person. I don’t really know what brought it up ( what, in any conversation with someone you just met, brings to mind the story of you getting raped by a dog?) or why I told the story. But tell it I did. My sister looked ill as I started to recount that fateful morning’s miss-adventures, after all, she already knew all the sordid details. She kept making motions behind her classmate’s back to stop, with a look of alarm and incredulity on her face. How could I embarrass her like this? How could I embarrass myself like this!? I don’t know how, or why. The story just came out. Maybe it was my strange sense of humor, because, after all, it is a damn funny story, and it loses nothing in the verbal telling of it. If anything it gains a little with physical antics to go along with it to really help the listener understand what was happening. There is always a lot of laughing involved as well. Usually at my expense, but like I said, I do have a strange sense of humor, and I think ( now, anyways ) it’s funny too.
But what really made me write all of this down is that fact that there is now a story about that story. You see, just a few weeks ago, Janet, Her boyfriend Ryan, myself, and my girlfriend Denise, were all sitting around talking. Something was said to the effect that Denise was having to put up with some sort of crap that I was or wasn’t doing, and how she was complaining about how difficult it was to live with me, blah, blah, blah. At which point I brought up the fact, as I often do, that she has nobody to blame but herself, she knew EXACTLY what she was getting into when I first met her some ten years ago out behind the local college for the first time.
Ha, ha! Can you imagine telling a story like this to some girl you are interested in right when you first meet her!? Neither can I, but, for some strange reason, tell it I did! And it seems to have worked, as she is still with me after all this time. Call it the charm of The Chicken. I did mention that she is blond, didn’t I?…