So. Angus and I went for a ride this morning. Well, I rode he ran. His legs being too short for a bicycle and all. We loaded up and headed for a well known trail just a few blocks from Casa Six. As we rode (And ran. Can't forget about the doggy running) I saw him suddenly stop and stare. Not the casual kinda stare where someone of the opposite sex has sauntered by, oozing sex from every well muscled and tanned pore and you are desperately trying to act casual so as not to alert your significant other that you are in fact ogling someone other than themselves but they know anyway and you will absolutely pay for it just as soon as they get you alone. No, not that kind. This was the mad dog stare. The kind that will cause someone wearing eleven pounds of bling, crotch to the knees pants and tear drop tattoos to ask "What you looking at?" The stare that says "I'm so gonna tear you a brand new waste elimination orifice." That kinda stare.
He quivered as every muscle in his sturdy body got a jolt of doggy adrenaline. He was obviously preparing to thrust himself into mortal combat. His fangs bared in a rictus of anger as if he was anticipating an imminent fight to the death. Angus was clearly pissed. Or excited. Or happy. Or hungry. With Angus sometimes it's hard to tell.
In a moment the reason for his posture became clear as the focus of his lethal attitude suddenly burst into the open and took flight, clearly unwilling to face such a Black Furred Instrument Of Fearful Rending Death. What was this imminent threat to life and limb you ask? And well you should because the whole point of this post would be lost without that, dare I say it, critical information. There, I said it and I won't take it back. It's critical to know the creature which caused this sudden life or death situation. If I was to omit it you'd get to the end of this story and ask yourself "Just what was the point of that whole mess? What was the author trying to do other than to waste a few minutes of my valuable time?" And where would you be then? Probably somewhere where you weren't actively losing brain cells reading stuff so dreadful the Federal Department Of Things That Are Bad For You will declare it a Superfund clean up site.
Where was I? Oh yeah.
Well I'll tell you. It was a lizard.
I can hear you now, gales of laughter issuing from your lips but let me tell you, this was no ordinary lizard. This was The Lizard Of The Apocalypse. He was huge, maybe as much as three or four ounces and as high as a mouses knee. I think that's about sixteen pixie hands tall. Yeah. So there.
So this monster of a lizard, having taken one look at the fierce and deadly Angus, made a break for it. I heard Angus, using his best command voice, order the lizard to stop and show his hands. Or feet. Paws? Mandibles maybe? Anyway, the order was given and completely ignored. The Lizard Of The Apocalypse never even slowed down.
Did I fail to mention Angus can talk? Well he can. Of course only I can hear him. And he doesn't talk, even to me, when anyone else is around. And he usually uses telepathy. And sometimes he simply won't shut up even when I wear my CIA Approved Reynolds Aluminum Beret. And I'm not really sure I should be listening to him at all, considering what he wants me to do. I mean, who tells people to pee on cats for crying out loud?
So the Lizard ran and ignored the clearly legal order to stop so Angus took off in a cloud of dust, black fur and glee, chasing the malefactor. Around and around the cactus, sage brush and dropped bicycle they ran. The lizard fleeing for his life from the Imminent Jaws Of Drooling Death and dodging the Lumbering Human Of Inadvertent Squishing. The chase lasted for seconds as each tried to outwit and outrun the other. The running part was clearly going in Angus' favor. The wit part not so much. The lizard ducked into the Hole Of Obvious Hidiness and Angus lost him. Frantically, he quartered the area in a vain attempt to pick up his trail again. Alas, it was to no avail. The perpetrator was lost, never to be seen again except as an extra on a cheesy ScyFy movie of the week titled Attack Of The Killer Nuclear Lizards Who Can Also Hide Like Nobody's Business.
Angus was down trodden. Then I stepped off his tail and he was Ok again. He said "Hey, where there was one Lizard maybe there will be another that looks just like him" and immediately set off on The Great Lizard Hunt. Of Death. Several times on the rest of our ride/run I saw him again adopt The Posture Of Significance, indicating another Lizard Of Chasing had crossed his Path Of Accidentally Seeing Something While Running Down A Trail At Mach 2.7.
It was all in vain though. He just never could get past that whole outwitted by a lizard with a brain the size of ant poop thing. But it did give me a chance to observe his technique and reach an epiphany. And here it is. Ready? Because it's an epiphany of such monumental significance that I'm not sure the world is ready for it's world altering truthiness. It may shatter your world view and cause you to immediately sell all your worldly belongings, send the money to me and trot off to the nearest mountain top, there to contemplate the purpose of naval lint and the place toe fungus occupies in the flora/fauna argument. Don't say you weren't warned.
Angus wasn't trying to kill Apocalyptic Lizards Of Doom, he was actually training for the New York Marathon.
How exactly does this relate to the New York Marathon you're asking? A good question. A very good question. I sure wish I had a good answer. Have I told you how smart you are? And good looking? Have you lost weight? New hairdo? Glasses? New Dress? Want some bacon? See the shiny coin? No? You want an answer? Oh, I have an answer it's just not a good one.
Ever see the New York Marathon? I mean on television because normal people don't watch such things in person let alone participating in such endeavors. Not that any of us is normal but you know what I mean. Anyway. There's always this one guy, That Guy, who, when the starter gun sounds makes a sudden break for the lead. Running his lungs out just so he can say he lead the New York Marathon for 1.5 seconds. He never admits it was for the first 50 feet and that afterward he promptly collapsed and had to be rushed to the emergency room suffering from Near Terminal Oxygen Deprivation Through Sheer Stupidity (It's an actual condition, look it up. Ok, I'm lying. Don't look it up.).
This is exactly Angus' hunting strategy. Run like stink for a vanishingly small fraction of a second, slow down, stop, peer carefully around with a confused look on your face and then collapse to the ground while breathing heavily and claiming victory because the whole thing went exactly according to plan right up to the point where you pulled your groin and couldn't possibly have gone on another second but if not for that you would have won easily and handily. Or caught the Lizard. Depending on who's narrative I'm currently channeling. And I channel a lot. Have I ever told you I used to be a princess on the Isle of Moo? But never mind that for now.
Of course all this means that Angus is a natural for the Marathon. I didn't even know he was interested but now that I do I will do all in my power to assure his success. We'll get endorsements. We'll get chicks. We'll get cash. We'll get rolled in Central Park. I just need to figure out how to get a Black Lab registered for the New York Marathon. I mean, how hard could it be? They let Jared from Subway fame in right?
Look out Big Apple, here we come!