I don’t think I can finish the story of my life… this meaningless existence that I have led, is truly becoming more and more pathetic, and to chronicle its happenings would be like writing another chapter of “Tales from the DMV”. However, if I am to leave this journal, and through its binding into some river bottom, I must not leave until the latest has been told.
It all began innocently enough on a Thursday, after being let outside at the appointed time (my schedule doesn’t change much) in the wee hours of the morning, I went gallivanting across the fruited fields that is my neighborhood. Everything was fine and dandy, and then I saw him.
Our neighborhood is relatively nice. We have nice neighbors, nice roads, nice houses, and beautiful weather. Like any other neighborhood though, we have our terrible secrets. One such secret, that is particularly important to my tale of woe, is that we have a killing dog down the street. His name is Harley, and he is the ugliest, meanest, biggest, and dumbest canine thug to hit the history books. He has very short white hair, a long and thick tail, and is a little taller than me. From what Jake (his younger and friendlier brother) has told me, he spent a few years in the mob as a hitman, and then was demoted to a bouncer at a local club, where he was finally kicked into the humane society, where he was picked up by his current owners. I unfortunately had the terrible misfortune to run into him the other day.
I rounded the bend and saw the monstrosity standing in the road. Shocked that he was loose (he usually wears a shock collar for their electric fence) my muscles tensed, and I was frozen with fear. Slowly, he turned his ugly white head towards me, and I could see what looked like someone’s hand in his mouth (ok… maybe not… but it wouldn’t surprise me). Looking straight at me, he started to trot, and then run, barking wildly. In the next moment, I was running faster than I ever have in the opposite direction. I could see Jake in the corner of my eye, he was laughing hysterically… I was terrified.
I could hear him gaining on me, so I made a be-line for the one place I knew I could find refuge, out front porch. To my dismay, I discovered upon approaching it that the front door was closed. I turned to see him catch me full on with a vicious bite… I was helpless, to fight back, and he held me down as he bit me again and again. God was watching that terrible morning, because as the noise of our battle (or slaughter) grew… the door flew open, and Jonathan ran out of the house and kicked Harley really hard, causing him to fly off the porch in pain and surprise. I was safe… and I will never be the same.
