Of Dogs And Streetlamps

It appeared suddenly, like out of a jump cut. There was a dog. It was big, hungry and angry. Tyler sacrificed a fraction of a second to frozen panic. As one eighth became three sixteenths, Tyler ran, beating a path backwards through the alley from whence he came. It made chase swiftly with little effort but much gusto. Tyler realized a problem with his plan. Simple arithmetic betrayed Tyler in a hideous fashion. Four was more than two, four was faster than two. No matter how nice the cross trainers strapped to the two legged runner, the four legged runner had the advantage. The dog would overtake Tyler shortly.

Lights of orange reflected off trash bins giving Tyler the slightest bit of hope that the proper streets of the city were close by. If he had looked up he would realize that the light was coming from above but Tyler took care not to notice. It was hard enough to outrun a dog without the extra hurdle of reality. The dog huffed and puffed on Tyler’s ankles. Once pup got close enough to nudge him with the very tip of its nose. Tyler with a second wind, made a sprint towards a dumpster.

The dog whimpered and whinnied and wanted. Tyler wanted too, wanted something softer, something safer. No one was getting what they wanted. With a quick scramble Tyler was up the green steel and on the black plastic lid of the dumpster. The dog was circling, jumping and trying to find purchase. Up a fire ladder with safety rings, Tyler started to climb.

Finally, the dog was on the dumpster. In a half second, the dog was attached to Tyler’s leg. He flailed his leg wildly hoping the dog would give against the brick wall or the steel ring. For the worst two minutes of Tyler’s life, Tyler screamed loudly to absolutely no one. The bus was probably gone and he was probably losing blood badly. The pain was excruciating.

On an outward swing the dog finally relented. Violently and involuntarily, Tyler flung the dog into the passenger door of a passing city truck. With a last whimper the dog disappeared into the night. Gingerly as possible, Tyler dropped to the dumpster. With as much care as he had left in him, he got on the ground. Sheepishly, Tyler knocked on the passenger door of the truck. The bewildered driver rolled down the window.

“Yeah, can I get a ride to the hospital?”

The driver could do nothing else but oblige. He imagined anything else was tantamount to murder. Tyler slowly climbed up into the trailer and sank back into the bench seat. He groped through his backpack and found a towel. Quietly, Tyler thanked Douglas Adams for this wonderful implement and wrapped it around his ankle. The rest of the night was pretty ordinary, although that may just be a problem with contrast.

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