All Hopped Up on Goof Balls

I wanted to share a story about an extremely aggravating dog walking experience I had a few days ago, yet after recently receiving a neck and spinal adjustment my mind is just a little wiped from the bobble head sensation I’m now having – my mouth curled up in a stupid, self-satisfied grin, like I’m all hopped up on goof balls or something. I say, you never really realise how much tension you’re carrying around until it’s relieved. Oh man, I’m either going to fall asleep or my head is going to roll off – which in actual fact wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if my floating brain theory has any merit. Perhaps I am a little off my face… Unless, of course, you normal people, whilst in complete control of your wits, have pondered what it would be like if you were just a floating brain with telepathic abilities? Free of your cumbersome earthly vehicle, not having to spend half your life dressing it, cleaning it, feeding it – primping, preening, brushing – taking it for walks, working out those muscles, having it poked and prodded (by a health practitioner, obviously, get your mind out of the gutter!), and other various things, like, yes, getting it manipulated by an osteopath or chiropractor… Floating brains unite! Of course there is a counter argument to the floating brain, but, what is this an essay? No, this is an opinion blog where you will be subjected to all my crazy theories with no chance for rebuttal…and I don’t have to be objective. Hallelujah! Praise the internet gods.

Where was I? Oh, yes, I was going to tell you my dog walking story (Damn, I’ve built it up now, how can it possibly follow the floating brain? Rookie mistake…).

Sometimes walking my dog can be a tiresome exercise. He’s getting old. He’s slow. (Though I’m suspicious that it is actually just through laziness, because he could keep up if he really wanted to. I’ve seen him move into action when there is something he wants to chase after, so, I think he’s really just having me on. How you play me, Max, you little devil dog!) Anyhow, one particularly fine day my mum’s boyfriend’s dog was along for a visit – also an old dog, and if I may say, a bit of a spaz. I have taken this dog along for a walk with Max before and I believe on that day I swore to all that was good and holy, ‘Never again!’ – my god, never again … Yet upon failing to outsmart this Labrador by leading her into the garage (I did this with a dog lead in hand…a dog lead…as if she hadn’t caught on to my walking intentions…), and safely containing this little Houdini, I came down with a bad case of the guilts, as she was already far too excited, and I just had to take her with me.

I distinctly remember saying to her whilst she was panting and smiling – secretly mocking me – ‘Well, I’m glad you’re having fun’. I’m glad you’re having fun whilst my arms nearly pop out of their sockets as I’m wrenched in two opposite directions, like I’m attached to some sort of dog-powered torture machine (and not the kinky 50 Shades of Grey kind of torture either…actually I’ve never read that book, but it seems to be the happening thing right now, so I thought I’d just drop the reference…Honestly, what is the sudden fascination with this thing?) Anyhow, we’re walking along pretty well, we seemed to be gathering a rhythm, Max on my left side, Sandy on my right. That is until sudden jerky compulsions to smell something two meters in the wrong direction took over their tiny, one tract minds, as well as the constant need to pee every five seconds and other wonderful little dog idiosyncrasies that had me all tied up in crossed over leads, my body in weird twisted positions (and not even in a kinky 50 Shades of Grey way either…sorry, I couldn’t help myself. But, again, am I really missing out on an important slice of pop culture?) Anyways, (I seem to be saying ‘anyways’ a lot. Hmm, so easy for me to become distracted…)

Squirrel!

Anyways, as my frustration, with what should have been a casual stroll around the block, but was more like an animal wrangling circus, came to a boiling point, I, completely unaware of the volume of my own voice, due to the loud croonings of Colbie Caillat playing through my ear bud speakers, probably yelled (I’m still unsure of my vocal projection…) ‘If you don’t move dog I’m going to fucking kill you!’ – obviously it was quite loud as two residents at the end of the road looked directly at me, even going far enough to shield their eyes from the sun in little salute positions to take a real good look…’Oh, crap, don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact, just keep walking,..yes, just non-nonchalantly pick up the pace a little. My god dog, if you stop to pee now I really will bring the pain…’ (Obviously I am strongly averse to any form of animal cruelty. You know, just disclaiming, no need to sharpen those pitch forks…)

So, apparently I needed to learn the same lesson twice. One troublesome dog is enough to deal with. Never again, never again, never again. You know, until that silly old Labrador looks at me with those wide brown expecting eyes again – so innocent yet so evilly manipulative…

Even telling this story has gotten me all wound up again. Time for another bone crackin’! Mmm, my neck sounds like a rusty drawbridge.

Until next time…

Bonsoir.

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One thought on “All Hopped Up on Goof Balls

  1. jblinky says:

    So funny and so true!

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