Growing Up Mormon - Delivering Newsletters Part Two

Delivering Newsletters Part One - Here.

Even as an eleven-year-old, I was a creature of routine and efficiency.  I'd ride my blue, plastic skateboard along the main sidewalk kicking for speed until I reached the next duplex.  I'd jump from the skateboard, sprint across the lawn, slip a newsletter into a screen door, onto the next door, and back to the sidewalk where the skateboard would be slowing to a stop. I'd jump onto it and head to the next duplex.  The houses were long, low single story structures with front doors on both sides.  Matching single car garages were next to each unit with only a narrow tunnel-like sidewalk separating them from the house.   

I let my mind wander.  I had the routine down and the houses were identical so I didn't have to think about the landscaping, flat; sidewalk obstructions, banned by base rules; or even the doors, since they were all identical. 

I was a skinny blond boy in a loose t-shirt and Levi jeans that were tight everywhere except my ass.  I practically flew through those neighborhoods on that cheap skateboard and equally cheap Converse High-Tops.

I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just harboring anger for having to hand out thousands of newsletters for twenty-five bucks.  I might have been figuring out how much I was making an hour and wishing for the financial freedom of an Indonesian sweat shop instead.  Perhaps I was concentrating on my technique for jumping back onto the moving skateboard.  Every landing I wanted to perfect, to transfer my momentum into forward propulsion for the board.  Jump, sprint, deliver, deliver, sprint, and Jump.  I had a digital Timex that my Mother had gotten me for my birthday.  It had a stopwatch.  I must have been timing myself.  I'd cut tenths of seconds off my time and think about how to improve.  If the skateboard went to the right or left, I'd concentrate on jumping off cleanly.  Sometimes I'd stop and jump up and down on the edge to force the board back into straight alignment, or I'd twist the trucks to loosen them.  Jump, sprint, deliver, deliver, sprint .  .  . I don't know if I saw something or heard something first.  It was brown and there was a grunt, or maybe it was a snort.

Dogs were required to be tied up or fenced in the back yard.  Loose dogs resulted in hefty fines and sometimes military discipline for the owner.  I hadn't thought about watching out for dogs. 

It was coming at full speed, and I only had time for a glance.  The dog was enormous, brown and white, with a blank look in its eyes.  If he'd have been human instead of monster, he'd have been a great boxer.  The mid-ring stare down would've resulted in instant surrender.  I didn't see teeth in my glance, only fur and those blank eyes.  It was coming down the tunnel like a bear coming out of its den, only faster.  And meaner.  The air filled with the scent of wet dog and fear.  The fear was my olfactory contribution to the mood.   

I turned and headed straight to the skateboard at a full run . . .

. . . the newsletter fluttered toward the ground and Cujo exploded through it, the sound was like lightning crackling to me.  He was closing the distance. 

I reached the sidewalk and cleared it in stride.  There was a patch of grass then the street and then it had me.  I felt pain and yet I kept running, and I jerked free with ripping and tearing.  I lost my balance and rolling into the road where an oncoming car stopped and a black man in uniform jumped out and ran toward me. 

Then he stopped.  A St. Bernard stood right at the edge of the street with a chunk of denim in its mouth. He had bit me in the one place where my pants had some room to give.

“Nice dog, nice doggie,” the guy said.  What the hell was he talking about.  Cujo had bit me in the ass.  That's not the sign of a nice doggie. 

I was bleeding.  It was on my hand when I checked.

The dog wasn't moving.  It stood at the edge of the street, no growling, no barking, just staring.  I wanted to scramble away but I didn't want to be chased anymore. 

I started crying.  The fear had overwhelmed me and flooded my eyes with tears.  I couldn't go anywhere.  I couldn't do anything.  The dog outweighed me by at least double.  I had no ass in my pants.  I couldn't get a breath, I was heaving with sobs.  The black guy couldn't come toward me and couldn't back away.  He was frozen just like I was. 

Eventually the standoff came to an end when the dog's owner burst through the screen door.  She was a curvy brunette lady who smelled like stale cigarettes.  She screamed at Cujo in a manly hoarse voice and then tried to ask me if I was okay. I wasn't. 

Soon the base police came.  Someone had called them.  They took me to the hospital where I was treated for scratches and bite marks.  None of them were deep, the bleeding was superficial. 

My mother came running into the room and hugged me.  I was still sobbing in deep, quiet breaths.  The police officer had to tell her what happened because I couldn't get it out.  I don't know if she was angry or grateful or both because she started crying also.  The doctor released me and we went home, which was awful because my pants had no ass in them.  I was the most embarrassed and scared and flushed, tear-faced eleven year old boy on base.  I just didn't want anyone to see me.

The lady and her officer husband were fined.  They had to get rid of Cujo.  I don't know what they did with him.  They also had to buy me new pants, which the lady brought over with my skateboard the next day. 

Surprisingly, the incident didn't alter my opinion of dogs.  I've never had trouble with one since, and I'm not afraid of them. 

- rick, delivering newsletters

Comments

[a rose is a rose]

i did say it last installment (as you stated above) i am SO surprised you are not afraid of dogs. it's unbelievable. but i'm wicked happy you're not (and i'm sure sarge is too)

[mark]

so whatever happened that you didn't finish your chore?

[CV Rick]

That's a good point. I had to go back and finish delivering the newsletters a couple days later. All I could think about was watching for dogs.

[Success Warrior]

It also didn't change your style of clothing.

[CV Rick]

It just doesn't help that I'm a white guy with no ass and I can't dance.

[Cele]

oh mi gosh that would have been so humiliating. I love dogs but that would have scared the crap out of me.