Dogs Are Fast

Every time I wake up in the morning, I hope for just one interesting thing to happen during the course of a day. And so, when you witness a truly spectacular display of bovine flatulence, a part of you has to assume that that's as good as it's going to get.

I hadn't traveled too far from the scene of the tremendous toot when this next thing happened.

My cycling speed had diminished significantly on account of the fact that I was laughing uncontrollably about the fantastic fart. I'm almost embarrassed to admit just how funny poots are to me, even at 24. Almost.

I was enjoying my not-so-brief chuckle when a very angry dog emerged from the trees and gave chase. The thing had clearly been driven crazy by the ferocious flatulence of only a few moments earlier.

I've been chased by dogs before. Dogs usually aren't such a big deal. But this dog was a good-sized German Shepherd, and it was obvious that he had spent the offseason training with the fellows at BALCO. This dog was not named something cute like Fuzzy or Jake or Emmanuel. This dog was named something like Mike Tyson's Dark Side.

The thing was barking and barking and nipping at my tires. I started to push it and watched as I climbed up toward 28 mph. The thing was matching me, stride for stride. It was like one of those evil dogs from Lady in the Water.

Finally, the poor guy reached the extremities of what his invisible fence would allow. I watched as the animal yelped mournfully and jerked backwards into safety. The violence of that moment was actually heart-wrenching. In the matter of a painful second, the animal went from being a fierce competitor, to a defeated, hurting prisoner.

Maybe next time crazy, roid-raging dog.