So the BFD bit some kid yesterday. I suppose it’s kind of tragic, and I should be concerned that the BFD is some kind of carnivorous monster that chews up little children like the walking rawhide they are, but no, I'm not. It simply reminded me that I was overdue for bringing the hairy beast in for his rabies shot.
It happened at the block party. Since it was sponsored by
the Gospel Suckers, I wasn't really interested in attending. I had recycled all
of the flyers about it without reading them, so I was surprised when I came
home in the afternoon and found that the street was blocked off. This was
pretty annoying, and it took several minutes of honking and engine revving
before I made it to the driveway. I'm sure the fact that my car needs bodywork
helped.
I then prepared to ignore the event with a purpose. After all, this was a good time as any to clean out the garage. So I went out back and waded into the mess where our cars were supposed to be. Of course, the garage was filled with antique melon ballers and other kinds of crap that tends to be collected by sub-urban families that we had planned to sell during our garage sale. Of course, once we emptied the garage, we’d fill it up with stuff bought at someone else's garage sale. But only if I thought I could eBay it.
So I grabbed a beer and started sorting out the fiction paperbacks that the Bride bought when she thought she wanted to be a librarian when I heard someone say "Excuse me."
I looked up. There was a slightly older gentleman standing
in my driveway. He was wearing some kind of pastel colored polo shirt and khaki
shorts, along with some sandals that looked vaguely Roman.
"Yes?" I said, as uninterested as possible. In my
mind--already feeding on the frenzy of thought that comes from wading in a
garage full of useless crap purchased from other messy people--this guy
couldn't compete. Probably wanted to buy a bike or something.
"Your dog bit my son."
"He did? When? Just now? I thought he was inside." Well, it turned out that he wasn't inside. I had left the front door open with the screen door to take advantage of the breeze. when I left them, the BFD and the Fluffbucket had been patiently admiring the legions of walking rawhide chews cavorting in the street.
"I guess the door opened, and he got out. I think …" I'm not sure what else he said because I noticed that he was holding a red plastic cup in his hand. " …and bit him just below the armpit."
"Is that beer in your cup? Do they have beer over there?"
"No, it's lemonade. No one seems to be drinking. It looks like your dog didn't break any skin, so I …"
“Would like me to pour some of my beer into there? It would make it a shandy, and they would never know.”
“No, that’s alright. I like it the way it is. When your dog got out, he charged my son and bit him just below the armpit.” I noticed that his shorts had pleats.
“Hmm. Don’t know how he could have gotten out.” I picked up a Piers Anthony book. “Do you like science fiction? I know this is third in a series of five, but it’s okay, you can still read it anyway.”
"No, that’s okay, I don't like to read. I was wondering if your dog had his shots?”
“Yes, of course he does,” I lied. "We just took to the groomer last week to get his belly shaved for his tattoo." I discarded the Anthony and picked up a book by Franz Kafka. “Maybe you’d like Kafka? I never really got into 'The Metamorphosis' because of the complex issues between Gregor Samsa and his mother. I liked ‘The Trial’ because K’s issues all arise from his behavior after his accusation.”
The man looked over at the hairy beast we call the BFD. "He doesn't look like he's been shaved. What kind of a tattoo did he get?"
"A cockroach. And his hair grows back fast. So there's no beer over there? Not even a wine cooler? That's warped. Sure you don't want a beer?"
"No, I need to get back. Anyway, I just wanted to make you aware that your dog bit my son. I don’t know why he did, but he did."
He wasn't really indignant or angry or anything, but I had to say it anyway. "He must have tasted like chicken."
