Mr. Toads

I gave a shout that I was down below.  I was certain that I would get asked up and offered a green juice.  If I ever needed a green juice, it was now.  It was 8:45am.  It was raining.  I had shivered under a wet wool blanket all night.  “Be down in 15 minutes Big Guy,” the voice yelled.  No Juice.  I set all my stuff down in the back of the truck, and walked over to a massive grass area overlooking the Pacific Ocean that reminded me of the spread in Hawaii that James Caan took Sara Jessica Parker to in Honeymoon in Vegas.  The bugs began bugging me.  I paced around the crab grass.  I couldn’t get The Who’s Behind Blue Eyes out of my head.  After about five minutes or so, I spotted a mid-sized Rottweiller lying down about 50 yards away from where I was standing.  Apparently it was running decoy for the 140lb dog that spooked the piss out of me when it appeared out of the shrubs.  This Mother Fucker came within 10 feet of me and stood there.  It had a teaspoon of snot in each eye.  Dual side slobber.  It was also pulling a six foot wood fence plank that was attached to the giant eye ring that was attached to a heavy duty steel chain, which was attached to his choke collar.  Not the type of thing you see on 41st Ave.  I froze and looked the other way.  I’ve been in a few real life Cujo moments over the years.  This was gonna be another one.  I knew the routine.