Last night my wife and I went to a dinner at my friend, Mark’s place.
I’ve known Mark for about 15 years and we met each other in an outdoors activity club called SPAN (Sydney Perverts and Nyphos). Mark is one the guys that I climbed the Three Sisters, naked with.
The reason for the dinner was to test out a few Indian recipes that Mark (who is a chef) and Sonia want to serve at their wedding in November.
One of the interesting things that came out in the conversation at the table was that people who get attacked by animals must be bad people.
I told a story about when I was about 12 and I was attacked by a dog as I walked down an alley. I was just walking along with a friend and, unbeknownst to me, a dog was waiting behind a bush. As I came to the bush near the end of the alley, the dog jumped out at me unprovoked, and tore a chunk out my shoulder and then ran off. It was a pretty nasty bite and I was disturbed to see a hole about 25mm (about an inch) square with muscle fibre hanging out of my upper arm.
One of the guests (not in the photo) at the table just blurted out, “you must be a bad person!”
Years ago I was closing up a shop that I was the manager of . I had just opened the front door, to pull down the security grate when a tiny little poodle that had been dyed bright pink tried to savage me. As I jumped back in surprise, a transvestite sitting on a nearby stoop with his boyfriend hissed out at me, “well you must be a fucked up person!”
My mother sent me this comment via E-mail:
“re the Pink Poodle…..if you were a dog, and subject to that sort of crap, you’d be one bitchy little dog too”