When chased by a dog on your bike

One finds being chased by hounds, when those hounds are near those hounds’ houses, a minor indignity only. Such incidents commonly take place on streets sufficiently wide that the adept cyclist can negotiate his or her getaway, and within an hour be using their phone or internet connection to lodge a report with authorities.

What to do though if Godzilla’s own mutt comes for you on a narrow cycle path, as happened to Dr. Behooving this evening? Believe me dear reader, I thought I was fooked! I sped up, and it sped up, and I sped up, and it nearly caught me, and I began to have doubts about this slow piece of poop Dutch style bike about which I have been raving. On my racing bike, I would have been calling "here boy" as a joke, and luring it as far as I could from its owner.

Like cheetahs though, dog’s lose their puff. When I knew I was clear, I called from afar to the dog’s owner, "F…ing *#!@ off and die you f…ing *&%$ #@!*" That was perhaps a bit rude of me. However, my heart was pounding, and it have been ordinary lovable pooch. It was huge, fast, and had an outrageous temperament. 

Without mace, sound waves, or guns, we is simply fooked.

As I await reports on the news of a man and his gigantic dog miraculously being struck dead by the one bolt of lightning, I will try to gather my thoughts. Cycling specific pepper spray units, alas, are prohibited imports here in Australia. Such a shame. I could get one for $15 plus postage. My understanding is that ultrasonic dog deterrents do too little too late. Such a pity. Otherwise I would buy a few dozen. I would start a pirate radio station, Rack Off K9-FM, and broadcast ultrasonic sound waves for anyone to tune into in case of emergency. That leaves only fantasies, of top tube bazookas, knives disguised as bar ends, flame throwing chain stays, Ben-Hur spinning wheel nuts…all delicious, but alas only fantasies. Let’s face it folks, the world is unsafe, and the government who would fix that might itself be more dangerous.

Would I live longer if I gave in, and simply commuted by car? Driving gives the illusion of safety, cocooned within sheets of tin, hurtling about, close calls not even noticed over the radio. I believe it best to press on as I have been, and if ever I do find my leg in the jaw of some giant pit-bull, hope I have the presence of mind to go for its eyes.

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