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Just this last week I dispatched a report to a vast collection of computers and servers networked together for the purpose of information interchange and other hedonic behaviors.
In that report, I lamented the loss of Scott Adams.
There were also passing references to a certain magnet with the phallic features of a famous statue.
First of all, it’s weird that such a magnet would even exist in this particular reality.
Secondly, it’s weird that I would have such a magnet in my possession. At the same time, it’s the totem that reminds me that my colleague had nothing to do with the demise of the Pope in the spring of 2025.
Thirdly, it’s weird that even though the magnet tried to self-select its way out of my possession, I retrieved it from the big blue recycle bin before last Tuesday’s pick-up.
For what it’s worth, last Monday was MLK day. That delayed all of the trash and recycle pick-up by a day, so I actually had until Wednesday to retrieve the troubling trinket.
Fourthly (if that really is a word), the magnet’s attempts to disapparate into another realm via a recycle bin issued by the City of San Antonio wasn’t a “hold my beer, watch this” type of event.
Instead, it was a foreshadowing of things to come.
Did I mention Wednesday?
Of course I did.
The original plan on Wednesday was for me to work in office. Afterward, I would go to the on-site exercise facility and get some cardio in. Time on the elliptical, a stair climber, and a treadmill was planned. At the same time, I would be subjected to programming on any one of the four TVs hanging from the drop-ceiling. My choices were MS NOW, a blank screen with the Spectrum logo that has been that way for months, ESPN, and Classic Jamz music.
It’s pretty sad when a blank screen has the most useful content of the four.
The cardio version of the original plan was scrapped in favor of taking Tonka to the dog park.
Tonka is our ten month old ball of Weimaraner who needed to burn off a bunch of energy in anticipation of a house guest who was arriving later that night.
Tonka loves the dog park. He can meet up with all of his friends there and share useful and creative strategies for adding excitement and chaos to an otherwise dull day. He also learns the occasional off-color joke or two from Scout, the grizzled Treeing Tennessee Brindle.
As always, Tonka did what he does best at the park. Nella and Tiger were there to rough-house with him and burn all the energy he needed to burn. After about 30 minutes of zoomies, take-downs, reversals, and locker room humor, another dog arrived.
This one was new to the park and I never got his name. I’ll refer to him as Mr. Chomp-Chomp.
Upon arrival, Mr. Chomp-Chomp wasn’t taken off his leash like most dogs are.
A dog on a leash in a dog park tends to lead to problems. There’s something in the vibe that gets generated between the leashed and non-leashed dogs that turns the harmless jocularity into nasty trash talk.
As Tonka, Nella, and Tiger approached the new arrival, Mr. Chomp-Chomp growled and barked. It should be stated here that Mr. Chomp-Chomp possessed certain traits in his breed which make him aggressive. Those of you who have read The Pit Bull Diaries on this very site will know about my experience with those traits. The guy on the other end of the leash then called out to us in broken English that the dog had been previously abused and was still anxious.
So Tonka and his friends left the new guy alone and returned to their sniffing of butts and fetching of dirty tennis balls and other toys left at the park.
A few minutes later, Mr. Chomp-Chomp was on the other side of the park. At that point, his inspired and well intentioned owner took him off leash to let him run around a little.
Tonka and Tiger noticed this, and decided to run out and introduce themselves.
Whereas Tiger has learned recall and obeyed his master, Tonka opted not to respond to my admonishment to “come back here”. With great enthusiasm, Tonka approached Mr. Chomp-Chomp.
“HI MY NAME IS TONKA, WHAT’S YOURS? WANNA PLAY? HEY I JUST HEARD A GOOD JOKE. WHY DO WE LICK OURSELVES?”
Mr. Chomp-Chomp was having nothing of it and let his traits kick in.
The next thing we know, Tonka is yelping and I’m running out there considering whether I’ll need to use extraordinary means to get a dog with incredible bite strength to break his grip.
Fortunately, the attack was broken up before I could get there. The leash was returned to the neck of Mr. Chomp-Chomp and my dog was left with a Whiskey Tonka Foxtrot look on his face.
As we attended to Tonka, Nella’s owner advised Mr. Chomp-Chomp and his owner that a dog park isn’t the best place for anxious or unpredictable dogs.
Our initial inspection of Tonka revealed what looked like puncture wound on the inside of the right hind leg. That was a matter of inches from his..
- Statue of David magnet
- Weener-Rammer
- All of the above
Okay, get him home and cleaned up. He’ll be fine.
Not.
Once we were home, we found that a cleanup wasn’t going to be as sufficient as a trip to the emergency vet who keeps late hours. This was more of a tear than it was a puncture wound.
Later that night we were back home with additional accessories. Along with a couple of prescriptions, Tonka was decked out with a multi-purpose device around his head that would not only increase his tv reception, but keep him from licking the drainage tube and sutures which were positioned near his unsightly kitchen magnet.
Coincidently enough, he was wearing a similar device on the day we adopted him. Granted at that time he was uttering something in Latin about what the doctors had just taken from him.
Tonka will return to the dog park in a few weeks after the stitches come out. Nella and Tiger will have their buddy back, and Scout will hit him with another joke or two.
At this point, you’re wondering where the naughty magnet comes into play for all of this.
Last week, I purposely dug through the recycles to retain that thing in this universe.
The magnet was unrequested, and represents absolutely nothing I would ever buy in some Italian gift shop for myself. Even still, I wanted to keep it.
If fishing David’s Weener-Rammer out of the recycling wasn’t a sign that a related anatomical incident was imminent, I missed the memo.
