Sunday, October 23, 2011


My dog, Sophie, is awesome. You may remember her from a weirdo thought bubble, but probably not. I don't believe you remember much about thought bubbles.

If, by chance, you do remember a lot about thought bubbles, you should send me your favorite one, especially if it's a homemade weirdo thought bubble. I'll post it one day. I promise. Pinky swear.

Anyway, back to Sophie. She is awesome and I love her and I figured she'd like to ride on my motorcycle. There are a surprising amount of products for motorcycle doggies online, which are probably better than some of my ideas, but mine are cheaper. Cheaper is better. Mostly. Well, at least for my wallet. My first thought was to go to the pet store by my house. If anyone would know about pets and motorcycle safety it would be the pet store. Right? Wrong.

I asked the dude if he had any kind of harness I could strap to my body, like a papoose holder or something. He thought he might, so I followed him telling him my ideas. He stopped walking. His brow lowered. His eyes darkened. It was suddenly apparent that he was not going to help me find a safety device for my dog. "Dogs should never be on a motorcycle. There is no way to make that safe. Why don't you just wrap a jump rope around its neck and tie it to the fan before you go out of town, you crazy bitch." Ok, maybe he didn't say that last part, but it was in his eyes.

It was time for plan B. The interwebz. I searched for motorcycle safety equipment for dogs and found a variety of wonderful products like this, and this, and THIS! Some of it costs quite a bit. If my dog needed a surgery that cost as much as these things I'd have to curl up in a ball and berate myself as I watched the vet inject her with the blue juice. Well, I guess I could have a fundraiser. Anyway, the online products gave me some ideas and I figured I'd try to make them myself.

This idea failed. Why? Because I have absolutely no follow through whatsoever and ended up watching back to back episodes of Law and Order SVU. I love Mariska Hargitay. She's a badass.

I finally decided to use some weird bag I found in the garage and only take her a few blocks. She LOVED it!

I don't even think she got bugs in her eyes. She even got to hang out at the cofeeshop and get petted by strangers. It was a blast.

All this was beautiful, until my wife decided to open her mean ginger head mouth and make me cry.

We were at a different coffee shop on a different day, because we used to drink a lot of coffee (although she quit drinking caffeine because her doctor told her to, and I quit in solidarity, until I relapsed a month later) and I was talking about how ingenius it was to bring Sophie on the bike. Then she said it. The evil gingery sadist spoke. This is what she said.

GINGER CRAP HEAD: "It's cute until she falls off. She's going to fall off on the highway and die."

POOR INNOCENT ME: "No she's not!"

THE EVIL WHORE: "You know she's not going to live forever. You should just get used to thinking of her as a red smear on the road."

I burst into tears and began laughing hysterically at the same time. I don't cry, ya'll. Not in public anyway. She was just teasing and the thought of poor dead as dead Sophie had me blubbering like an eight year old who crapped his pants in elementary school. I'm surprised I'm not crying right now, although my lower lip is pushed out. I'm not smiling, guys. Poor Sophie. I THOUGHT "Danger" was her middle name.

Every few weeks the redheaded satan brings it up again. We'll be cuddling or eating pie or talking about Being Human, and she'll say it. She's going to die. Those four words have me in a mess of tears.

She's not going to die. But just in case, no more motorcycle.

P.S. I actually have 2 dogs. The other one, Nunzio, is awesome too, but in a SLOWLY awesome way.


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