That doggie in the Window

August 25, 1998

It was a hot one Sunday. The kind of East Coast hot that makes my ball sack get really loose and sweaty. The sweat is soaked up by my flannel boxers, but eventually the cotton reaches a point of supersaturation. What we have then is a kind of musky testicle stew; my gonads in a sticky sweat broth. With my genitals that filthy, I almost felt bad making Eva give me oral.

Just joking. (I didn't feel bad.)

But seriously, my friends, it really was a scorcher yesterday. From the window of my blue 1992 Honda Civic EX Sedan, the Northern Maryland countryside looked like a Monet painting--all blurry and soft.

With Jack tethered to my gearshift, I was crusin' along at 80 miles an hour thinking about what a great weekend I'd had. Eva had just returned from a month-long journey to Italy. We had a lot of catching up to do and catching up we did. She is such a great girl.

Earlier that morning, Jack and I ran wind sprints on the football field of Calvert Hall High School in northern Baltimore County. I relived my high school glory days by running post patterns in the hot and humid air until I felt like passing out. (Actually, I didn't really have much of a high school football career. And I didn't go to Calvert Hall High School. So I guess I wasn't really reliving MY glory days. Oh well...I was reliving somebody's glory days anyway.)

Jack got tuckered out from all that running. But once he got into the car to go home, he perked right up. Jack loves riding in the car. He puts his head out the window and rests his two front paws on the ledge. I don't worry about him falling out since, as I said, he's tethered to the gear shift with his leash. (I have an automatic. Without boring you with the design of the car, there is no way Jack can jerk the leash and pull me out of gear.)

The windows were wide open on Sunday afternoon as we roared up Interstate 95. (My air conditioner works, but not well.)

As Jack and I neared the Delaware border, a sign told us to slow down. There was a toll booth ahead. (The East Coast transportation network is choked in too many spots with those infernal toll booths.) Anyway, I fumbled in my pocket for two dollars. Instead, I pulled out a wad of receipts I'd been keeping slobbishly in my pocket. I reached back in for the money. While I was doing all of this searching, I didn't notice that my car was drifting into the right lane. I looked up just in time to see that I was about to sideswipe a black Ford Escort packed with teenage girls.

With an adrenaline surge bolting through my body, I swerved hard left. There was a sound of something hitting metal. "Oh Shit!" I thought, "I've hit these kids." But the Ford Escort kept going. My car kept going. I looked over at the other car and saw no structural or cosmetic damage whatsoever. My car seemed to be running just fine. But something was weird. I'd heard a thump. Something wasn't right. Something was missing.

I looked back at the teenage girls in the Escort. They were shooting me looks of disgust. That was to be expected. I waved "I'm sorry", but they just kept shouting at me from behind the glass.

Then, as if by chance, I noticed a blue leash tautly stretching out my right passenger window and disappearing over the edge. This leash was attached on one end to my gear shift. On the other end was Jack, but he'd disappeared.

The adrenaline that was already rushing through my body flowed even faster. I was completely wired. Without thinking about the carnage I'd likely see, I yanked the blue leash as hard as I could. Jack came flying back through the window, his belly skyward, his paws in the air. He crashed into my lap.

I put Jack back into his passenger seat, then slammed on the brakes. When my car was completely stopped on the left-hand shoulder of the highway, I assessed my faithful companion. There appeared to be no head trauma. I felt all around his torso and legs. There was no bleeding and nothing seemed to be broken. Jack just sat and stared at me with a confused, sad look on his face.

The adrenaline high came crashing down as I realized my little guy was okay. I instantly started crying. "You're okay Jackie" I reassured him. "I'll never let that happen to you again. I promise. Let's shake on it."

I put my hand out to receive Jack's paw. He extended it as I'd taught him to do. When I let his paw go, that's when I saw the blood. My hand was covered with blood.

The adrenaline came coursing back. I gently flipped Jack over on his back. I almost threw up. The pads on all of his paws had been ripped off. Some of them were still hanging on by thin strands of tissue. Some were gone completely.

Well, the story isn't very exciting after that. I administered first aid to my dog. Then I found a Rite Aid pharmacy in southern New Jersey and bought Bactine and gauze and tape. I doctored Jack up myself. During the rest of the ride home, I kept Jack up front with me (with his window shut) so that I could monitor him for shock. The vet in Hoboken is closed on Sunday, so there wasn't much else I could do.

My poor little guy. My absent-mindedness almost killed him. That sound of something hitting metal was Jack crashing into my right front passenger side door. Thankfully, the leash was short enough to keep his head from hitting the road. But his feet got dragged along the asphalt for a good 200 feet at 60 miles per hour before I yanked him back in.

To make up for my neglect, I bought Jack a Whopper with cheese from Burger King. He has a hard-on for that stuff. Literally. As he was chowing down, his lipstick came out in full effect.

Due to the bandages on his legs, Jack had a hard time walking up the stairs to my apartment. After a nerve-soothing beer, I passed out on my futon. Jack fell asleep along side of me.

At 3:00 in the morning, I heard noise in my kitchen. At first I thought it was somebody breaking in. Then I realized it was probably Jack eating some of the food I'd left on my counter. I felt beside of me and Jack was not there. Yep, must be Jack, I thought.

I picked up the flashlight I keep near the futon and pointed it's beam into the kitchen.

Sitting on my counter top, nibbling on a loaf of bread, were two 18-inch long, ten pounds each, black, beady-eyed RATS!!!

RATS!!!

Stay Tuned,

Broadway Jim Jenkins

		That Doggie in the Window
		August 25, 1998 It was a hot one Sunday. The kind of East Coast hot that makes my ball sack get really loose and sweaty. The sweat is soaked up by my flannel boxers, but eventually the cotton reaches a point of supersaturation. What we have then is a kind of musky testicle stew; my gonads in a sticky sweat broth. With my genitals that filthy, I almost felt bad making Eva give me oral. Just joking. (I didn't feel bad.) But seriously, my friends, it really was a scorcher yesterday. From the window of my blue 1992 Honda Civic EX Sedan, the Northern Maryland countryside looked like a Monet painting--all blurry and soft. With Jack tethered to my gearshift, I was crusin' along at 80 miles an hour thinking about what a great weekend I'd had. Eva had just returned from a month-long journey to Italy. We had a lot of catching up to do and catching up we did. She is such a great girl. Earlier that morning, Jack and I ran wind sprints on the football field of Calvert Hall High School in northern Baltimore County. I relived my high school glory days by running post patterns in the hot and humid air until I felt like passing out. (Actually, I didn't really have much of a high school football career. And I didn't go to Calvert Hall High School. So I guess I wasn't really reliving MY glory days. Oh well...I was reliving somebody's glory days anyway.) Jack got tuckered out from all that running. But once he got into the car to go home, he perked right up. Jack loves riding in the car. He puts his head out the window and rests his two front paws on the ledge. I don't worry about him falling out since, as I said, he's tethered to the gear shift with his leash. (I have an automatic. Without boring you with the design of the car, there is no way Jack can jerk the leash and pull me out of gear.) The windows were wide open on Sunday afternoon as we roared up Interstate 95. (My air conditioner works, but not well.) As Jack and I neared the Delaware border, a sign told us to slow down. There was a toll booth ahead. (The East Coast transportation network is choked in too many spots with those infernal toll booths.) Anyway, I fumbled in my pocket for two dollars. Instead, I pulled out a wad of receipts I'd been keeping slobbishly in my pocket. I reached back in for the money. While I was doing all of this searching, I didn't notice that my car was drifting into the right lane. I looked up just in time to see that I was about to sideswipe a black Ford Escort packed with teenage girls. With an adrenaline surge bolting through my body, I swerved hard left. There was a sound of something hitting metal. "Oh Shit!" I thought, "I've hit these kids." But the Ford Escort kept going. My car kept going. I looked over at the other car and saw no structural or cosmetic damage whatsoever. My car seemed to be running just fine. But something was weird. I'd heard a thump. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. I looked back at the teenage girls in the Escort. They were shooting me looks of disgust. That was to be expected. I waved "I'm sorry", but they just kept shouting at me from behind the glass. Then, as if by chance, I noticed a blue leash tautly stretching out my right passenger window and disappearing over the edge. This leash was attached on one end to my gear shift. On the other end was Jack, but he'd disappeared. The adrenaline that was already rushing through my body flowed even faster. I was completely wired. Without thinking about the carnage I'd likely see, I yanked the blue leash as hard as I could. Jack came flying back through the window, his belly skyward, his paws in the air. He crashed into my lap. I put Jack back into his passenger seat, then slammed on the brakes. When my car was completely stopped on the left-hand shoulder of the highway, I assessed my faithful companion. There appeared to be no head trauma. I felt all around his torso and legs. There was no bleeding and nothing seemed to be broken. Jack just sat and stared at me with a confused, sad look on his face. The adrenaline high came crashing down as I realized my little guy was okay. I instantly started crying. "You're okay Jackie" I reassured him. "I'll never let that happen to you again. I promise. Let's shake on it." I put my hand out to receive Jack's paw. He extended it as I'd taught him to do. When I let his paw go, that's when I saw the blood. My hand was covered with blood. The adrenaline came coursing back. I gently flipped Jack over on his back. I almost threw up. The pads on all of his paws had been ripped off. Some of them were still hanging on by thin strands of tissue. Some were gone completely. Well, the story isn't very exciting after that. I administered first aid to my dog. Then I found a Rite Aid pharmacy in southern New Jersey and bought Bactine and gauze and tape. I doctored Jack up myself. During the rest of the ride home, I kept Jack up front with me (with his window shut) so that I could monitor him for shock. The vet in Hoboken is closed on Sunday, so there wasn't much else I could do. My poor little guy. My absent-mindedness almost killed him. That sound of something hitting metal was Jack crashing into my right front passenger side door. Thankfully, the leash was short enough to keep his head from hitting the road. But his feet got dragged along the asphalt for a good 200 feet at 60 miles per hour before I yanked him back in. To make up for my neglect, I bought Jack a Whopper with cheese from Burger King. He has a hard-on for that stuff. Literally. As he was chowing down, his lipstick came out in full effect. Due to the bandages on his legs, Jack had a hard time walking up the stairs to my apartment. After a nerve-soothing beer, I passed out on my futon. Jack fell asleep along side of me. At 3:00 in the morning, I heard noise in my kitchen. At first I thought it was somebody breaking in. Then I realized it was probably Jack eating some of the food I'd left on my counter. I felt beside of me and Jack was not there. Yep, must be Jack, I thought. I picked up the flashlight I keep near the futon and pointed it's beam into the kitchen. Sitting on my counter top, nibbling on a loaf of bread, were two 18-inch long, ten pounds each, black, beady-eyed RATS!!! RATS!!! Stay Tuned, Broadway Jim Jenkins