#66 - The Honorable Dabs

Walking toward the car with a Justin Bieber song stuck in my head, I was momentarily overcome with that strange instinctual sense that a playful baby hippopotamus might be wandering nearby. And just as the attention returned to focus, the right foot planted into a warm pile of freshly birthed dog doo that sent my leg sliding forward into a 1970’s disco split right there next to the driver’s side door. It all happened so instantaneously. Suddenly, out of the periphery came the hurtling Davey Dabs in full swing of a triple spinning cartwheel from which he sprung flawlessly into an absolute freeze. For three glacial seconds, locking deep, emotive eyes, he gleamed sentimentally as a returning war hero finally embracing that anticipated homecoming with the surviving fox hole compatriot he hadn’t seen since being captured twelve years prior. Then, before I could gather any semblance from the surprise, those hairy arms swung around my torso to squeeze the air out of me like an adult python hugging its prey. I recall the wife-beater being moist with perspiration and the distinct smell of fecal matter competing with the malodorous scent of human pheromones while he cupped the face with both hands and gently kissed me on the lips. And as stunned and frozen with shock as I was in that moment, Chipotle bag still in hand, it should be noted that it did not lack soft passion.

I had just seen Davey Dabs that early afternoon when he awakened in my living room having repurposed the kayak that was previously hanging in the garage for a pullout bed.

Believe it or not, Davey Dabs’ father is a district judge. And he has never ruled out the possibility of following in those respected footsteps.

Of course, as it turned out, Davey Dabs had been given the enjoyable task that day of Dog sitting for Rocky the Pitbull, which became glaringly evident whilst recognizing the merriment with which he now humped my leg at the end of Davey Dab’s leash.