Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Marley Lou

You show up at your race, your sweet dog looking like this:

You finish your race. Dog shits in front of other bikers. You search for bag for dog's shit. Finding none, you feign ignorance, pretend not to notice. You eventually find bag. Search for...clean up said shit.

You chase dog around race grounds, trying to tire dog out for long car ride home. You fall on your ass at the podium area. Flip flops, skittish dog, smoked legs, and a post ride beer do not mix, you think to self.

The masses oogle over your well behaved dog, nonetheless. She gets tired of waiting, tired of our little chase game, decides ....why I'll cool off here...then jump in the driver's seat, ready to go watch baseball:

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