Tuesday, October 28, 2008

When Bad Things Happen To Good People I Feel Sad

I have a great friend who I have known for nearly twenty five years now. During our university summers he was the straw who stirred our social drink. Saturday afternoons and evenings were spent at his folks' place before we went out. All day people would come and go as we ate and drank in the sun. A ballgame would be on the TV in the house, music would be playing and good natured insults would fly through the air. Anyone was fair game and any misstep was remembered and recounted endlessly. One of the girls who had too much to drink one time became known as Carrots after she tossed in the driveway before we hit the road.

Saved by youth's ridiculous capacity for alcohol and the ability to quickly recover from nights of abusing our bodies, Saturday and Sunday mornings would invariably begin with a phone call from Frank with a plan for the day. Throw down some coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich and out into the sunshine to go fishing, to play a pickup game of soccer or ball hockey or baseball, to make a ridiculous video, play some golf or go harass some of our poor buddies who happened to be working. Or take a daytrip or an overnighter to a camp. And then we'd start at it again.

And once or twice a summer we would roadtrip. One of these, referred to briefly here, was to Penetang. Frank's girlfriend at the time was from there and one weekend she had a wedding to stand in. Two of her friends who were also in the wedding party weren't seeing any of the local yokels so Julie and Frank convinced them to import two yokels, myself and Carlo. Two first round draft picks from the big city.

The highlight of the weekend was the Saturday afternoon. While the girls were at the wedding we sat on Julie's sister's boyfriend's deck overlooking Georgian Bay and drank beer. His name was Bob and he was a typical smalltown Canadian guy (read: terrific). A good old boy who was a contractor. Business was good. I think being a contractor is brilliant myself. When times are good people spend money on their homes. When times are bad rather then buy a home they upgrade their existing ones. Anyway business was good for Bob. He had the big sprawling house with a beautiful wraparound deck. He had the big truck, the big boat and all of the toys. And he had a beautiful bulldog named Gus.

By the time it came to go to the reception we were a pretty big mess. A solid day of drinking will do that to you or so I've heard. We arrived at the reception late and in fine fettle we were. Our dates were not impressed and Carlo and I got the cold shoulder early and hard. Our nights decided for us we amused ourselves by making sure we were around the videographer the entire night. Right now somehere in central Ontario a couple who have been married nearly twenty years are watching their wedding video and wondering who those two guys are who are in nearly every shot at the reception. And how come two such handsome guys aren't beating off the ladies?

We returned to Bob's place to sleep and by this time we could barely walk or talk. Slow into our room and I ended up on the floor on a foam pad as Frank and Carlo grabbed the couches. Wrapped in a sleeping bag and dozing off when I heard a snorting and a snuffling. Around the corner Gus shuffled.

Dogs love me but never like this. He came across the room at that slow pace that bulldogs have and then he mounted me. I was laughing so hard and so helpless from the drink that I could do nothing but submit to his frenzied yet deliberate thrusting. Suddenly a gasp and he rolled off of me and disappeared into the darkness.

We were killing ourselves at this point when all of a sudden from around the corner, another snort. Not yet satisfied, someone was coming back for more. And so it went. Again. And again. And again. My pleas for help were met with laughter and flashes going off as the moment was recorded for posterity.

Gus is long gone now but he lives on in our memories. He was a good boy, even though he violated me multiple times.

Lets hope that the Oilers road trip doesn't end up with them helpless and drunk on the floor being raped by a bulldog. Based on what is going on lately the possibility is there.


Showerhead said...

"Lets hope that the Oilers road trip doesn't end up with them helpless and drunk on the floor being raped by a bulldog."

Line of the young season so far!!

Showerhead, hoping that the Oilers don't end up helpless and drunk on the floor and being raped by a bulldog, since 2008.

Oilman said...

I had nearly the same thing happen to a buddy of mine, but it was a Newfoundland dog instead of a Bulldog, so add about 90 pounds. And it was headfirst 69ish as he laid down to retrieve a ping pong ball from under the couch......if you've never seen a NFLD dog smile you've never lived!