Monday, July 25, 2005
Shades of Grey
This post brought to you by (see previous post) Percocet.
How's it hanging Nigel?
Nigel: It's not. You had me fixed.
Author: Oh yes, sorry about that. That would explain the empty change purse you carry around with you.
Nigel: You are a real hoot.
Author: So anyway, tell me about the beginning - the time before we met.
Nigel: Not much to tell. I was raised with a large group of young, nutty Greyhounds that were a bunch of morons. They fell for the fake rabbit trick. Not me - check my racing record. Click on stats at the top of this page http://www.greyhound-data.com/d?i=462479
Author: I see...where did you find that link?
Nigel: Don't be ridiculous; I can't type. You need to lay off the painkillers.
Author: I'm looking at your racing record. You raced seven times in 2003. What an impressive career.
Nigel: Have you noticed how it appeared that I had a "mishap" in almost every race? I planned for an early retirement. The perks of racing life were lost on me. So that's how I ended up here.
Author: We're very glad that you did. And in reviewing your pedigree information, I'm reminded of your racing name. It bears no resemblance to the name we chose for you.
Nigel: Thank Jesus. What were these people thinking? In case they hadn't noticed, a large portion of my coat is black. And they named me Tom Koon.
Author: It gets better. A common practice is to take a portion of a Greyhound's racing name and use it. My previous Greyhounds were (racing names) Thunder Mountain and RC Brennie B. So we went with Thunder and Brennie as their names.
Nigel: So the folks at the Greyhound adoption service abbreviated my name and just called me Koon. What were they thinking?
Author: Hence the name change. I didn't want to stand at the dog park in a large crowd of people shouting, "Come here KOON" to my predominantly black dog. I don't need to be jailed for a hate crime.
Nigel: And I don't think a white hood would suit you. But you did live in Alabama...
Author: I'd rather forget that.
Nigel: So I met a bomb sniffing dog the other day.
Author: Really? That's interesting.
Nigel: I guess you could say that. He seemed way too tense. I asked him what he did. He said, "Well, I search buildings, cars, trains and planes for bombs. If I do a good job and find a bomb I get treats." I almost fell over. He noticed I was looking at him as though he had an extra tail growing out of his forehead and asked me what I did. I replied, "I sleep on the couch about sixteen hours a day. I roll over a few times, go out three or four times. And if I'm lucky Sola will walk by and smooch my parts. Then I get treats."
He cried and ran away.
I can't help but think that bomb sniffers must resent their owners. Imagine if you humans were subjected to that sort of treatment. It's your first day of school, and as you're getting on the bus your parents tell you that one day each week, in order to get your lunch, you have to run across the freeway in L.A. a couple of times. You never know what day it will be, but when you reach for your lunchbox on Thursday you suddenly find yourself being shoved in to that first lane of traffic. You explain to your parents that you'll be happy to skip lunch today. Heck, you'd give it up for a week if they'd let you just go home. But no, you HAVE to eat lunch. And first you play this game of Russian roulette in order to have it.
Something tells me that might make you just a tad crazy. I think I'm content to stay right here thank you.
Author: Glad to hear that. But I have to ask - why the long face?
Nigel: Like I have a choice. There you go being all funny again. I must have missed your special on Comedy Central last weekend.
Author: Point taken.