Pooter, The Dog

I love dogs…I love animals… I love ugly girls, and pretty girls…I love smart people…I love just about anything that’s not trying to kill me. I knew a dog who tried to kill me once. Went for my throat, he did. I have the scars on my left elbow to prove it. I once had a girl who tried to kill me…went for my throat once, yes she did. Pinned me between the front seat and the steering wheel of my car, broke the neck off a long-neck beer bottle, on the door, and tried to slash my throat. That bitch went crazy on me. It was close. Really really close. She did put a nice slice in my coat. I didn’t hit her…I’ve never hit a woman, but if my friends weren’t there to help, I would’ve done whatever was needed. I thought I was dead. I caught her right arm with my left hand, and my buddies yanked her off my lap and out of my car. Bitch was pissed, to say the least. Wild animal pissed. The thing was, I wasn’t gliding one in on the side…I just think she snapped and wanted to kill me. I’m a good guy, but after that, when she threatened my parents…enough was enough. I told her parents, if she ever came to my parents house again and threatened them…I would kill her. I didn’t live with my parents at the time, but I was close enough to get there quickly. Bitch was crazy, and although she was a beautiful woman on the outside, extremely intelligent…she was whacked out on the inside, in the head. They put her in the Funny Farm. No choice, she lost it. I hear she’s still there. I thought I was a better judge of character. Live and learn. She fooled me, that’s for sure. But, I never gave her a key to my crib. Good move on my part if I don’t say so myself. Got up with some old friends when a friend of ours died suddenly a week or so ago, and we started talking about old times. They said I owed them for saving my life. They might be right…I got the tab.

But, the point of this post is about Pooter. Pooter is a short-haired mutt dog that belongs to a friend of mine. He weighs about forty pounds. Great doggie. My friend, who has some folding money, decided he wanted to ride a Jet Ski from the Statue of Liberty to Miami. Looking for a Guinness World Record, for the hell of it. He bought a cigarette boat, modified the transom so he could drive up on it to refuel. He made it…he was on that fucking ski from dawn to dusk, everyday. He also had a big-ass tour bus monitoring his position as he went south. It stayed on the coast roads, and they had some catdaddy communication equipment. Interesting trip.

Back to my story.

After he got his record, he had the boat moved to a large lake in Tennessee. We did some joy riding…this boat was fast…I’m talking smuggling fast. I’m talking Miami Vice fast. I’ve driven it many times, and it is by far the fastest boat I’ve ever been on. Pretty stable at speed as well.

First, I need to say, we love and protect our animals. We will kill for them, but sometimes shit happens. We’d been doing a little cove hopping one day, the weather turned bad, and we broke for the dock. We floored it, and I’m telling you, when you put the gas to this puppy, it would scream the scream you like. Pooter always liked to ride on the back…on the cushion that covered the cockpit stern. No big deal, we’d done this a million times. He was the boat dog.

We slow down as we approach the dock, it was raining and blowing like hell, and discover Pooter and the cushion are missing. Damn, you can give me all the shit you want, but we immediately did a 180, and floored it. We fucked up, we knew it, and it will never happen again. So, we’re doing about 80 or 90 mph down the lake (full tilt, as fast as we could go) when I spot something in the dead center middle. We thought it might be a log, but no, it was a dog.

Pooter and his cushion obviously blew off the boat. Pooter found the cushion and somehow managed to get on it, balance himself, and wait for us to come get him. He knew we’d be coming back. He knew we would, and he was right. Lesson learned…don’t give me any shit. Pooter now has a harness that will keep him aboard. No way he can blow off. He’s a great dog…he had to have hit the water at a HIGH rate of speed. Shit, we were doing 80+…in 40 knot winds. FUCKING CRAZY. We were just about airborne.

I feel bad about this, but it turned out okay, and for that I’m grateful. One of those things that most people wouldn’t want to admit. I’m all about the truth.