If this isn't a proverb, it should be! But it brings to mind a scene that unfolded live, not on tape, while I was out getting gas just a few hours ago. As to why I feel the need to tell you any of this, or as to why because I've been writing only with the accompaniment of music, and therefore think that I need do one without it, is unknown to me, but for whatever reason, here it is. So what could be easier then writing about something that actually happened?
So I have Max with me when I stop for gas, because it is time for his morning constitutional. Apparently, Max snuck out of the car when I went out to fish for my credit card to pay Joe, my local gas jockey, for the twenty bucks worth of regular I had just ordered? I first notice him when he came round to circle the car and the gas pumps. But being a dog, and worse yet, being a male dog, Max begins heading towards the highway, where the bastards would surely run him down if he was to dare get in the way while they were in a rush to go to work, or wherever else they may be heading? At any rate, now I'm pissed, and I have to go after him, because he is ignoring my calls. I finally get him when he stops to roll in the flattened dead carcass of a squirrel, no doubt to rid himself from smelling like a French whore. He had just been washed and so on. But now, thanks to his stop from the highway adventures, I have him by the collar, and he reaches around with his head, attempting to bite my hand? Now I'm really pissed, and I twist the collar, just tight enough for control without actually killing him by choking off his air! I had considered it mind you, as I'm hardly the dog whisperer type? The point is that real drama ensued until at last I got him back to the car. So how did it end? Well, I ain't bit, and Max? Well, let's just say that I doubt he'll ever try that again?
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