Master Wang-Ka used to leave epic posts here about him and his friends, caveman nerds who lived in a slum and terrorized the neighbors with their weirdness. He, **Sampiro **and **Fenris **were master story tellers, but I rarely see those epic posts any more.
A couple days ago, I had a Master Wang-Ka type of experience, so I thought I’d try my hand at online saga.
I had a remarkable day Tuesday. It both sucked and ruled.
After getting home from work, I usually change into old clothes and take my dogs for a walk. I love my dogs, but they are a huge pain in the ass sometimes. Lita is 9, a border collie mix. She is devious. She uses her cuteness as a means to get what she wants, and to get out of trouble. Reggie is 6, a boxer/bloodhound mix. He’s usually a gentle dog, but can turn into a thug at a moment’s notice. Lita loves to get Reggie into trouble, then cute her way out of it.
The two of them together can be a challenge to manage. Lita is an instigator, and Reggie follows her direction blindly and runs headlong into chaos. Lita usually leads ahead during our walks, and sniffs around for treasures, usually cat poop and plant rot to munch on. Reggie will join in the hunt, but doesn’t share Lita’s appetite for filth so much.
Occasionally, they will spot a cat and go crazy. They’ve killed cats before, so I have to draw in their leashes and pull them past the cat until they get distracted by something else. They also lunge for squirrels, possums, and other critters. I also have to draw up their leashes whenever I see kids on bikes and skateboards. They will try to catch the moving things. They go batshit whenever they see delivery trucks, too. My dogs are also racist and go after black people. It’s embarrassing, but at least they scare the JWs away.
The worst is when they spot other dogs they haven’t seen before. They’ll assume a pack mentality and start barking and lunging at the other dogs. I’ve thrown my shoulders and elbows out many a time holding them back.
So, walking the dogs can become similar to negotiating a minefield. I have to keep an eye open for potential dangers and steer the mutts away before they see the hot buttons. Most of the time, it’s not a huge ordeal. I get them over to the dog park and they lay down and chill. They’re both too old to romp and play, so I just sit back and read, pet other dogs, and chat with other owners.
On the way back Tuesday, I spotted another dog down the street. It was running around without a leash or collar. It looked to be a bulldog/pit mix, maybe about 90-100 lbs. I hoped I could hold my dogs back and prevent them from seeing each other, but it didn’t work out that way. The other dog saw us and immediately ran up to attack.
Reggie is a scrapper. He will fight anything. Lita’s not much of a fighting dog, but she will take part in a scrap. All three dogs were at each other’s throats, and I tried pulling them apart. I was afraid the other dog was going to bite me, but thankfully it didn’t. It didn’t have a collar, so the only thing I could do was grab it by the loose skin on the back of its neck.
The other dog had Reggie by the throat, and Reggie was clamped on to its throat as well. I managed to pull them apart, but they lunged back for each other again. I pinched the other dog’s nostrils so it couldn’t breathe, but again, as soon they separated, they’d pile into each other. I finally took a leash, the wind-up kind with a heavy plastic casing, and smacked the dog on the side of the head. It still wouldn’t let go. I hit it again and again and again. Its skull was like concrete. Reggie’s leash had slipped off, and I was so afraid he was going to run off with Lita and terrorize the neighborhood.
Eventually, Reggie, the other dog, and I became too exhausted to continue. I held the dog by its neck skin, and Reggie and Lita stood a few yards away. We were all panting and puffing. The dog still hadn’t turned on me, even though I had tried to bash its skull in. We were at a stalemate, and I had no idea what to do. I had lost my glasses during the melee, and couldn’t see that well either.
A box car (one of those box-shaped hybrid cars) pulled up. I couldn’t recognize who it was without my glasses. The driver and passenger got out and asked what was going on. I then recognized their voices. It was Adam and Eve (not their real names) from down the street. Really cool people. Adam is a handyman/contractor, very much into hunting and organic gardening, kind of a liberal version of Ted Nugent. His long graying hair is bound back with a sweat-soaked kerchief, and his arms and face are solid brown from working outside. After I told them what happened, they put Lita and Reggie in their box car. Adam got a leash and put it around the neck of the other dog, and said he’d call Animal Control. Eve gave me and the dogs a ride back to my house.
I checked the dogs for wounds and cuts, but they seemed OK. Reggie’s throat had some scratches, but no blood had been drawn. I decided to count my blessings and not make a big stink about it. I’ve been on the bad end so many times myself whenever my dogs escaped and caused damage. The other dog had probably slipped away from its owner at some point, and if the situation was anything like what I had been through myself, the owner was going frantic looking for his dog and hoping nothing terrible happened. If Adam did call Animal Control, I’d let them handle the matter, and if they wanted to track me down and follow up on the incident, that would be fine.
I settled down, broke out my elephant pipe, turned on the TV and computer, and smoked some weed. About an hour later, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Adam, and he’s carrying an acetylene torch, a blow pipe with a small tube segment attached to the end, and a soda bottle cap.
He told me the owner of the other dog found him, and Adam told him about the fight. He assured Adam his dog had all his shots, so no worries about rabies. “Dude, the other dog is all cut up and bloody. Reggie really kicked his ass!” Adam then said, “You’ve had a shitty day, my friend. Wanna try some Shatter?”
Shatter is a type of hash, he explained. It’s 50-70% THC, and it looks like a dried clump of glue. That’s what was in the soda bottle cap. He demonstrated its use. He turned on the acetylene torch, and an intense blue flame hissed out. He held the tube end of the blow pipe up to the flame, and heated it up to a yellow glow. He then put the tube into the cap, and inhaled the ensuing smoke. He said to only take a couple hits, because “this shit is intense.”
I took one hit and almost coughed my lungs out. He was right. I was instantly stoned, and my nose felt like it had burned off. He told me how the hash is harvested, but we were both stoned, so I had a tough time following him.
In past dog walks, I dropped by Adam and Eve’s house occasionally and we exchanged weed. One day he told me he wasn’t smoking any more, for insurance purposes. Turns out that wasn’t the actual reason. He told me he used to grow weed in a trailer. He had a huge operation using $15K worth of equipment. My buddy and I used to grow weed in my shed, but our operation paled in comparison to his. He said one of his friends ratted him out, and a SWAT team invaded his house and tore it apart. He wasn’t home at the time. He and Eve had a girl across the street dog-sitting for them, and the poor girl had to face down the SWAT team on her own. She finally got to call Adam and tell him the news. I remember seeing his back glass sliding door had been shattered, but assumed it was the result of some party foul.
The cops and feds eventually tracked down Adam’s trailer and confiscated everything. They said he had 60 pounds of marijuana and threw the book at him. He managed to get charges reduced to the point where he wouldn’t be facing jail time, but he’s being fined $140K and would have to be on house arrest for a few months. He said that until the sentence is passed down, he’s taking every drug he can get his hands on while he still can.
After we took a second toot, he said he had to get to bed early. He noticed all the meds I take and said, “Hey, got any Percoset?” I said “Why, you cooking meth?” I told him no Percoset, but I did have some extra Adderall if he wanted. I used to take two pills a day for ADD, but I’ve cut down to one because I couldn’t sleep at night. I gave him six pills, and he thanked me profusely. He said Eve would like the Adderall, so I gave him six more pills since she gave me and the dogs a ride back. I was glad to do it, because they really helped me out of a tight spot, and they’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
My hell hounds are doing fine.