Yo Quero Spatula

A comment left by Elisson over at Velociworld in response to V-man's post about a pet speedbump reminded me of a friend's brother and his little pooch. In order to protect the innocent, names will be changed... some.

Marck is the picture next to metrosexual's definition. A preppy. He's not a bad kid, but he's trying to find his niche, and it keeps running away from him. With the onslaught of chopper building shows in the last few years, he's convinced that a biker is what he must be. He's now an expert on bikes... just ask him. Hell, he's even got the latest clothes from the major bike manufacturers.

In keeping up with the thought that all bikers need a dog, he and his fiancee decided to get one. They go out, and get one of the fiercest breeds around... a friggin' chihuahua. Yeah, you read it right. I don't know what his thinking was behind it... perhaps he was going to let it ride in his windshield bag of the bike he didn't have yet. It probably would have fit. It's name? Harley, of course.

His parents live along a very busy street, with their property backing up to the country club golf course. There are no fences, but plenty of room for a wannabe dog to run. Unfortunately, Harley had a fascination with the traffic going by on the street out front, and he kept wandering out front to investigate. On one of his exploratory ventures, he decided that he should defend the front yard from the sinister vehicles. Marck happened to see him in time, and went running out the door, yelling for Harley to "Come here!" Without so much a glance back, Harley charged the road, with Marck screaming behind him.

Marck kept yelling and chasing, as Harley kept barking and charging. By now, Harley is just a few feet from the road, with Marck right behind him. Marck yells "Stop, Harley" just as the dog's about to run onto the road. Harley, being a good little pooch, stopped... just in time for Marck to step onto his back, killing him.

Heheh... I know it seems a little cold to laugh about, but I can't help it. It's the picture... a big stocky "biker" bawling over his "dog." The dog that he killed.

I've become attached to animals, and I hate when they are gone... hell, I've even cried. But I would expect people to laugh at me if I kept telling the story, and busting up into tears. I know that if there's a chance you might break down, keep your friggin' piehole shut... don't give anyone reason to laugh.

Perhaps this is one of those stories you needed to be there to witness... but I'm laughing anyway.

Posted by That 1 Guy at November 17, 2005 03:02 PM