My 'dog day' of summer!

It was 1974. Paula and I had been married almost two years. After a year of being dorm parents at OCC, we moved to an apartment on Britton Road, just off Broadway Extension. It had a pool, a clubhouse and everything. We were in tall cotton! No kids, no pets, and lots of time to spend together. Life was great! Often, when the weather was nice, we would take our 10-speed bikes down the stairs and go for bike rides all over the Britton area.

During the bike rides, we often rode up and down the east/west streets near our apartment. One evening we were chased by a large dog of unknown heritage....deep, threatening growls, aggressive and downright mean. Did I mention that Cujo was unchained? He chased us for a long distance, and we could never shake him. I told Paula to ride in front of me (the chivalrous thing to do..."you go ahead, honey --- let me field the dogs!"). The hair was standing on the back of our necks. Hearts pounding, and with white-knuckles seizing the handlebars, we raced to get away from Cujo. Paula later told me that she was not as worried as I was. She told me that she knew she didn't have to outrun Cujo on her bike...she only had to outrun me! (Such care and compassion from a loving wife! Are there no bounds to this woman's love for her husband?). Anyway, we finally got away. That ruined the bike ride for the evening.

Arriving back at our apartment, I stewed in my juices for awhile before coming up with a solution. I would teach that dog a lesson. I'll fix his clock! The next evening, having oiled and tightened all the nuts and bolts on my bike, I set out for a solo mission in 'enemy territory' (the devil dog's very own neighborhood). I had saved some used large syringes from my days at Dow Chemical which I now used as 'oil cans' for tiny motors, hinges, etc. I cleaned one of them out and filled the syringe with ammonia and then rubber-banded the 'loaded' syringe to the frame of my bike and headed for Cujo's house. I waited till dark, thinking that the cover of darkness would cover my crime. I headed down Cujo's street, making noise so I would not fail to attract his attention. I was afraid of Cujo, so I was ripping along at a pretty good clip (not that I could even think of outrunning him). Just like in your nightmares, you cannot outrun Cujo...or any other monster, for that matter.

Suddenly I heard the rapid, metallic sound of toenails on pavement! Cujo was coming for me! I ripped the syringe away from the rubber bands, stuck the business end of the syringe in my teeth to pull the cap off the syringe (like I had seen John Wayne and Clint Eastwood yank the pins from many a grenade in war movies). Feeling scared but a little heroic, I yanked the cap off of the syringe while hearing Cujo's heavy breathing and 'toenail staccato chatter' getting closer and closer, coming up on me from behind. At this point I'm thinking: 'he's gonna get his...he's gonna get his.' At the same time I'm also running another loop in my mind: 'Please don't let him get me, please don't let him get me! I had a mental image of Cujo rolling around on the grass, using his nose as a shovel, trying to deal with the ammonia. The other simultaneous mental image playing in my mental theater, was that of Cujo pinning me to the pavement, saliva dripping from his fangs as he savagely torn off every one of my limbs!

As I pulled the syringe away from my teeth, leaving the cap between my teeth, I inadvertently pushed a little too hard on the plunger and SHOT MYSELF IN THE EYES WITH THE AMMONIA MEANT FOR CUJO!

Eyes screaming in pain, I went down, bicycle, Cujo and all, skidmarks of flesh (mine, not Cujo's) on the pavement, slamming into and then bounding right over a curb, eventually coming to a stop in someone's front yard. Cujo knew I was a goner so either he felt sorry for me or did not like the smell of ammonia that was all over me. I staggered around in the general direction of the front of the house where I had crashed, blinded by the ammonia, looking for water. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't see Cujo and I couldn't really even see the house, except vaguely. Finally locating the faucet, I turned on the water and hosed my face for a long time, flushing my eyes. Later on, realizing that Cujo had disappeared, I walked my more-or-less wrecked bicycle home. My swollen, bloodshot eyes burned for days.

Having to tell everyone I met --- for days, what I had done to myself was humiliating. What an humbling experience-- dog-gone it all!

When you get a little too sure of yourself -- or when you decide to take vengeance into your own hands, take heed--- lest YOU fall...or crash! Stunts like this only work in the movies.