The question of unaided human flight had been definitively answered in 1963 when my brother, aided only by a superman cape, leapt from atop of three footstools in an attempt to fly. This endeavor was an utter failure.
Some 63 years later, I’m adding my corollary. Human flight aided by a Labrador retriever is not possible.
Yesterday, Landi and I were taking the dogs to the kennel so we could fly to Washington DC to attend the inaugural United Bowl. Landi had successfully loaded Maggie into the backseat of the truck. All I had to do, was walk Caesar from the laundry room through the garage and into the truck. That’s all. Sounds simple. So simple, even a cave man could do it.
Caesar weighs about 90lbs, is a very strong and high spirited, Labrador retriever. I’ve said for years that this dog is defective.
I opened the door to the garage, and Caesar takes off like a bolt of lightning. He loves to go for a ride. The second he saw the truck with the door open, he know he was going for a ride. Our normal procedure is to just drop the leash and allow the dogs to dash into the car. However today, I misjudged the time just a fuzz so that Landi was not yet clear of the door of the truck.
Seeing Landi with her back to us, and not wanting to allow Caesar (he is known to blindside you) to hit her from behind, in one motion, I stepped quickly forward and reached out to recapture the leash. This was the beginning.
I stubbed my toe on the door sill, causing me to lurch, fall forward. Fear not, because in that some motion, I had caught the leash with my right hand. Caesar, who hits 90 mph in two steps, was flying toward the truck. In a mere instant, he took all the slack out of the leash. The resulting yank seemed to pull my recently repaired shoulder nearly out of socket, and I was airborne. In a prone position, now about 5 feet above the concrete floor of the garage, I accelerated and gained some altitude. Already, I was sensing doom.
I began to lose altitude just as rapidly as I had gained it. Thank the Good Lord that I have spent a lifetime building a good belly because it was what hit the concrete floor first, followed immediately by my forehead.
It has been 50 years since I have had the wind knocked out of me. The last time I remember is when David Pyle tacked me in football practice around 1972 or so. I remember that getting hit in the gut like that is an extraordinarily unpleasant event. It’s not that it hurts that much. It’s more uncomfortable than painful. Still, it’s very unpleasant to have to wait wondering how long it will be before you can take a breath again. The harder you get hit, the longer it takes. Apparantly, the older you get, the longer it takes.
It takes an overweigh 68 year old man a while to get that next breath. The sounds you make while rolling around on the floor holding your belly apparently serve as an attraction to dogs.
Caesar, taking advantage of the situation, briefly attempted an unnatural act with me. Even though I couldn’t yet breathe and was seeing stars, I was able to communication with him on the matter. He’ll not make that mistake again.
So, I survived the fall, the impact and the attempted copulation. I’ve got a bump on my head. I’m sore all over, and I have the ugliest big toe on earth.
Remember the game? We were going to the United Bowl. We never made it to the game. Our flights were canceled.
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