Friday, March 9, 2012

Destiny

This really is a crazy series of events. First I watch "127 Hours" about the kid who goes into a canyon and a boulder rolls on his arm and traps him so he carves it off at the elbow and escapes. I'm watching it and thinking that it's such a small chance of that happening. 1 in a billion. But you could say it's his destiny, the rock waiting for him since the beginning of time.
So, there was nothing he could do to escape it....
So, I go to walk to the mail box down the street to drop the movie in the slot. Netflix shuffle.
And what else? So, I wait for a few cars, a truck speeds by and I stop. Seconds are counting. I jog across the street and then shuffle past some kids with slouching jeans and ass cracks smiling hello to the world. I frown at the state of the world, knockout gangs punching Brazilian dishwashers for a game and posting it on facebook to brag. Go ahead, take a swing, I think. Last thing you'll ever do. But the kids walk on.
I stop at a car with a busted out window and a flat spare tire, riding on rims. two seconds tick by.
Then I continue to walk on and smiling and bopping down the sidewalk in my bell bottom jeans....then I see out of the corner of my eye a door open. A furry shape moves toward me and all I hear is, "blah blah blah...won't bite."
The next instant I have a short ball of fur and muscle trying to tear my right arm off...exactly at the spot where Aron Ralston cut his arm off...the exact spot...the dog has circled me and had anywhere on my body to bite but it attacks my right arm at the elbow driving his canines into my muscle and cowering after I aim an Oggy finger into its eyes.
The dog rushes back to his owner who is horrified, a man who had never seen his dog do anything untoward.
"6 years old. Blah blah blah. Man, I'm sorry."
"You never can tell," I mumble looking at the bleeding bite.
I have horrible luck with dogs. I was raped by a huge Great Dane when I was young. Yeah, it's not funny. It hunted me down with 6 foot strides down Richards Ave and tackled me and humped my ass while all my friends pointed and laughed as his sharp claws dug into my shoulders and hips and his slobber and semen covered my neck and back. Real funny.
Then I was walking down a dirt road in Ecuador, stoned out of my mind of South American weed, and I was attacked by a hoard of rabid dogs and defended myself with rocks and screams until the locals came with shovels to save me.
Then I was in Arcata, Ca, and a miniature poodle darted out of a house like a bullet and before the lady could yell a word the dog had taken a big chunk out of my calf and darted back to the safety of the car as I limped away. Oh, I hate poodles.
There was a mother dog in Santa Cruz who attacked an old woman in front of a library, then attacked a homeless person who shattered a bottle in the dog's face after having his entire shirt torn off. One puppy fell through the slots of the wooden pier and drowned while stoned hippies gaped in wonder and my crude redwood branch crutches crumbled in defeat.
There was the dog in Labrador who chased me for the fastest quarter mile of my life. It's a long list that has the latest chapter added to it.
But the circumstances surrounding a dog attack that involves my right arm while returning a movie where a person loses his right arm is too strange to ignore. It's destiny. That dog had been waiting 6 years to cross my path and bite me. He had an exact window of about 2 seconds to walk out of his house and see me and run from his owner and attack me. 1 second either way and that attack never would've happened.
Chances are good that will be the last thing the dog does as the owner had its neck in a fatal choke-hold as I limped away. Midwest people have rules and if you are a dog and bite someone who isn't robbing the house then your next drink will be injected into your neck and you will be cremated and replaced before the sun goes down. There are lots of dogs and it's up to the dog to figure out who is a threat and who isn't. Dogs are tools like screwdrivers and when it's worn out it goes in the garbage. The dog was thinking it's better to bite now and ask questions later but I'm pretty sure there won't be a later for that dog. Unlike that fucking shit ass poodle who definitely lived a long and healthy life, this dog is doomed. But I'm stuck with a one armed deep flesh wound bleeding so I have to type with one hand. Bullshit, but it's destiny.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.