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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Don Pueblo who wrote (15833)	12/26/1998 6:12:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 71178

New Mexican ~ in ~ "Adobe Acrobat" We wanted to go up the Chama River; just south and west of here. There is "stuff" out there. Fun stuff. And beautiful. Put those two together, and we're going. We were well-rewarded. (We must have been good. We sure felt good about it.) I just remembered something we laughed really hard about. Past Abiquiu we took a small road over the bridge to the southwest side of the river. It turns into a dirt road near the water. Sharon had earlier seen a piece of ground for sale, and wanted to see "how-much-for-what." For fun and dreaming. Along the cottonwoods and mini-ranchitos and barns and trailers, in with the cows and trucks, are "dogs." Ranch varieties. Most of them stay wisely or lazily out of the road, but these two others just dashed out into the road and scared the poop out of us. Their first motion was to block. Sharon braked, as they were overshooters we would have clearly run over. "Scruffy winter-coat-yearlings," I thought. One was ruddy-red; one coal-bin. They learn or don't make it; but I had to give them credit; their first lightning salient had nearly overturned the car. They were barking and jumping good. "Red", after slowing the car, dropped back to my door, and Step Two ~ break through the window glass. You sure don't stop. Sharon rallied smartly to pick up some speed. She can see Red in her peripheral vision, clearing my window sill every two seconds; and she's really worried she's going to run over him. I'm starting not to care. If it'll work, let's do it. All of a sudden this horrible banging begins from the back. It sounds like Blackie has gone under the rear wheel, and been spun up in the wheel well. These are some killer dogs. I'm thinking, if Blackie is grinding-up in the wheel well, this is a good thing. If we have to be the ones who take him out ~ ~ so be it. "Oh god!" says Sharon. "Keep going! Keep going!" Even though there's a layer of automotive glass between me and Redbud's teeth, I pull my face back to crank my head around and see if I can get a look along the edge of the car. I can see Blackie out there. Bang! Bang! Bang~Bang! "He's biting the tire! He's biting the tire!" All my life I've heard about this, but at forty-six I've never seen it. Not ever. Heard about it a lot; never seen it. Sharon must be doing twenty, and Redblood's only blipping the ground with his feet, but staying at my window. He's quite an acrobat. Blackie's been getting his neck broken biting the tire, and I feel we've finally twisted some daze into him when he drops back off the wheel to behind the car. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! "HE'S BITING THE CAR!!" yells Mary Jane. The Honda's hatchback is bouncing in and out. Perilously, like it might open. Blackie wasn't wounded, or enlightened, he is running really fast and leaping at it; ramming it to pop open and trying to get his teeth under the lid. He's one bang from getting lucky, and he'll be in the back. "FASTER! FASTERRRRR!!" People are screaming, really bloodthirsty dogs are leaping, doors are banging, glass is scratching, tires are leaking ~ ~ it's a mess. No wonder the three acres up there was only eighty grand. We decided their owner must fix tires, for fifty bucks. To me, it felt like he would steal wallets from cars that must crash at both sides of the road. Then feed the doggies steak. Human steak. Where was I…..something about what. We had to come back, too. I won't tell you about it. It was, actually, worse. But I can tell you, I wouldn't drive by that place with my window down.