I'm Awake Now

Dalmatians are an interesting breed of dog. They're noble looking, sleek, and groomed to run along English carriages of the 18th and 19th century. They're famously inbred to attain the perfect blend of black spots and white fur, and they tend to be skittish and ill-tempered, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.

I gave a dalmatian the circumstances this morning.

I got up about 0500 this morning because...dunno...just got up. Puttered around the house and ate the usual morning yogurt and fruit blend. Started to get ready to go to work, not especially awake, which explains why I was on the bike at 0615ish. It was a darn cold morning, the chilliest it'd been since I started riding to work, and I was seriously considering taking the straight route to work because the thick pair of shorts and long-sleeved Oakland Athletics shirt was not keeping me warm. I mulled it as I peddled softly to King Street, then I must have figured that longer I stay on the bike, the warmer I would be. I was about to get toasty.

So here I am, lollygagging on Richmond in a frozen stupor, when a dalmatian took issue with my riding form and started after me. Fast. And he wasn't a happy puppy. Dogs bark in various ways to show their moods: happy, hungry, mad. Old Pongo there was beyond mad: he was growling and howling, and this spotted Cujo wanted a piece of Bicycling Bob the Blob. A big piece.

As interesting as dalmatians are, adrenaline is sooo much neater, and I used buckets of it. The two of us were flying down the street, me peddling, him frothing. After a few seconds, I realized I was keeping ahead of him. Now common sense would dictate that I speed up and get up away from those really sharp teeth.

But no.

I turn in my saddle and yelled at Cruella De Vil's fur coat: "LET SEE WHAT YOU GOT!!!"

Taunting was probably not the wisest course of action, but it turns out he didn't have as much adrenaline as me. He gave up after a block's worth of Cujo-type anger and went home. When I stopped at the corner of Fifth and Richmond to catch my breath, I realized I wasn't cold. Nor was I cold for the rest of the ride to work. But I still took a long soak in the spa at the gym. To the victor go the spoils.

I called Carson Animal Control because that part of Richmond is between Carson Middle School and St. Therea's Elementary, and it could have been a little kid on a bike instead of Bicycling Bob the Blob. Pat the Dogcatcher had the balls to ask me if I got an address of where the dog lived.

I told him I was a tad busy at the moment.