Many years ago , in college, a girlfriend asked me to walk her Great Dane, which was named Sir, on the grounds that there was nothing else you could call a dog that size. She assured me that Sir was as gentle as a lamb, and that he never used a leash, despite the presence of various laws. I took him out, leashless. Two blocks along we encountered a well-dressed fellow (ritzy neighborhood on Long Island) walking a rather well-coiffed Irish Setter. On a leash. Sir ran up, sniffed the setter's nose, and immediately commenced a serious effort to eat him. The scene got rather confused, with the well-dressed man on his back, the setter on top of him, Sir on top of the setter, and me on top of Sir, trying to whack a 3/4 Nelson on him and pry him off. Eventually succeeded, mostly because I think Sir was choking on the setter's head.
It got even messier after; authorities were summoned, and such. Fortunately, the girl's father was an attorney and prominent in the community. Unfortunately, he was not present at the time, and had no idea I was sleeping in his house, not to mention his daughter. Messy.
I was wearing a down jacket, got dog-blood all over it. No matter how many times I had it cleaned, dogs growled at me whenever I wore it. Ended up setting that jacket on fire, trying to hide a joint in the pocket, but that's another story. |
