Like many folks, I had a dog when I was young. He was a massive specimen of the Boxer Bread, named Brandy. Brandy was a wonderful creature. He was strong, gentle, loved people, was fiercely loyal, and was generally a happy creature. He also had an ornery side. He was stubborn. He liked to get loose and run. He liked to get into trouble when he was out traveling. He was dumber than a bag full of hammers.
Unavoidable Digression:
Some of what I am about to relate bears a slight resemblance to events described in the book Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod, by Gary Paulsen. If you haven’t read this book, go find it. Right now! It is one of the funniest and most poignant reads I’ve ever encountered. It doesn’t have much relationship to cycling, and bicycles are only mentioned (hilariously) in one brief section. Still, I recommend it most strongly. Try (I dare you!) to read it out loud in the family.
Okay, where were we?
Brandy taught me a lot. I learned a good bit about responsibility. The dog had to be fed, watered, walked, and cared for. And he had to be contained. The amount of trouble that animal could find to get into was astonishing. He was sneaky about getting loose. Worse, it was always my responsibility when he did. If I was anywhere around, it was my prime concern to stop Brandy from getting loose. If he did break free, it was my job to go find him and bring him home.
It was imperative that he be caught as soon as possible. His previous adventures had included tackling a superior milk cow on a neighboring farm, and savaging a prize winning poodle about a mile away. Add to that, the dog just looked ferocious, and simply scared the fool out of most folks… You get the picture.
Brandy taught me that I was a distance runner. This occurred when he made one of his mad dashes for freedom and trouble, and I just dropped what I was doing and started running after him. He was faster than I… At the start. The thing is, dogs are sprinters. I caught up to him shortly after he stopped running and took a break. I didn’t stop. He looked at me, sort of grinned, and started running again.
That second run leg was shorter. The dog was tiring. I wasn’t. It took about five running legs before Brandy just didn’t have another spring left in him. I grabbed his collar and we walked back home. This scene would be repeated.
There was a time when It occurred to me that I could hitch Brandy’s lead to my bike and he could pull me. This was a stupidly bad idea. It worked for a bit. But then the dog stopped abruptly, and I didn’t. I survived the crash. We got organized again, and off we went again. I was ready for the next sudden stop, and things progressed. We got farther out into the countryside. We were doing well, the dog trotting along, me coasting happily behind him.
Suddenly, there was a rustle in the brush to the side. Brandy stopped, turned, and dove in there. I was tipped over, and the bike yanked out from under me. I got to my feet and dashed into the foliage after my dog and my bike. I got to the scene just as Brandy got to the skunk. What happened next was too awful to repeat. Let’s just say that I was ostracized, both at home and at school, for the next week.
Brandy liked skunks. He would chase them, and attack them. He never seemed to learn that the horrible result was a product of these actions.
There was a time… I was working on my bike. The dog managed to slip around another family member and make one of his dashes. I didn’t think about it. I jumped on the bike to give chase. This turned out to be a mistake. I should have pursued on foot.
I could not take the bike through some of the places the dog could go. So I’d have to work around them. That gave Brandy a bit more resting time, and prolonged the chase.
We were out on a country road. The dog was ahead and moving, but he was obviously tiring, and I was not. I’d have him soon.
I saw the skunk at the roadside, before the dog did. Brandy ran past the skunk. The skunk turned to look at the departing dog. I hit the brake and stopped. The dog stopped. He looked at me, and as if to say, “What? Why aren’t you still chasing me?” Then he saw the skunk.
I yelled at Brandy, “NO!” As usual, he ignored me. He went for the skunk, and I mean went for it! I tried to get untangled and away. I wasn’t successful. That was a big skunk.
Once again, the dog and I were covered in tomato juice, and sleeping on the porch, and once again, I was humiliated and ostracized.
I wonder what the skunk told his neighbors, family, and friends.
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