Bogley

[Tucker]

Are there any of you out there who have a favorite canine companion that accompanies you on trail rides? Personally, I ride by myself about once a week and I have a loyal four footed buddy who likes to go along most of the time. It can be great to share your ride with your dog but sometimes problems can arise in this relationship. Although I usually try to avoid gross and insensitive topics I think the time has come for me to take a serious look at dog flatulence. When I say “look” I don’t mean that, except in extreme cases, you can actually see dog flatulence, but only that it deserves some study, particularly by those of us who share with dogs the enclosed interior of a vehicle.

Some of you might be thinking…”Tucker…dog farts? Get a life dude!” Well the reason this crude topic came to mind is that the other day I was passed on the highway by a friend of mine returning from a bike ride and driving well over the speed limit. Not only did his dog have his head out the window but so did my buddy. It was a practice that I have also engaged in from time to time when riding with my dog Jake, the ace of farts. Even though I have done it I think it is an extremely unsafe procedure, and decided that I should try to solve this unfortunate malady which contributes so much to the downside of taking your dog along on the car ride to the trailhead. If your one of those lucky people who has trails right out your back door this isn’t a problem for you and we are all jealous.

After thinking about this matter for several hours, and even with Jake under my desk doing his best to keep my mind on the topic, I was unable to come up with a cure so my words of advice on this subject are few…this problem is usually an uncontrollable act of God. First of all, when these unfortunate occurrences take place, you should not yell at the dog. It won’t do any good and might make the problem worse. The dog is suffering too which is obvious when he shoots you that pained little grin. There is no point in making him feel worse then he already does. Other than that just live with it. Your dog, I’m sure, overlooks your many bad points everyday and loves you in spite of them.

Since I can’t solve the problem for you dog loveing mountain bikers out there I’ll try to entertain you with a story about how my loyal pooch caused me to run afoul of the law on Thanksgiving Day.

The event in question began shortly after the family had stuffed ourselves with the typical Thanksgiving dinner. I lay suffering on the couch in deep remorse over my recent pig fest and regretting asking my buddy Brian to go on a holiday mountain bike ride. I vaguely heard my wife ask me if she could give the left over turkey gravy to Jake.

“Whatever” I said.

If it occurred to me that feeding turkey gravy to a dog was a bad idea, I don’t remember, maybe because I could foresee no consequence for me.

The next player in the story was an old mountain biking/camping/work car of mine. It was an old VW Golf. I had removed the rear seats to make the cargo area larger. It was in this convenient space that I stored my camping gear: sleeping bags, tarps, etc and in which I sometimes slept out of concern for the environment, primarily bears, coyotes and snakes. I nicknamed the car Miss Iva in honor of my favorite high-school Algebra teacher, Iva Hugeass.

Now, you have to try to visualize this next part, as I did when reconstructing the scene of the crime. Jake is slurping up—“yowpgobblegluburpslurpcokeglub”—his massive serving of turkey gravy, and other Thanksgiving edibles. Finished, he is let outside. Shortly thereafter he begins to inflate. His skin grows tight, stretches, and expands, gradually enveloping his legs up to his paws. Only half his tail protrudes. Slowly he rises off the ground, taking on the appearance of a large hairy zeppelin, and floats through a stuck open window in Iva’s rear door. There he snuggles down under the sleeping bags and presumably goes to sleep. He is a ticking time bomb.

It was about then that I said to my wife “Well its time to go over and pick up Brian.”

“Do you have to ride on Thanksgiving?” she said.

“Yeah…Brian is making me. I think he hypnotized me last summer on that mind numbing drive back from Colorado…now I can’t seem to say no.”

“Get out of here” she said.

I went out and got Miss Iva warmed up and drove over to Brian’s. He loaded his bike on the rack and off we went with the heater cranked up full blast to compensate for the stuck window.

We were about halfway to the trailhead when Jake, suddenly, strangely, sinisterly--- deflated. Later, trying to reconstruct the event, I thought I might have heard a faint whoosh, but by then I’d suffered so much brain damage I couldn’t be sure. Brian and I were instantly engulfed by a plume of fume so powerful it fogged the windshield and sent tears streaming down my face. If Miss Iva had had a speed faster than 20 miles per hour I might have driven off the road.

Now I was unaware that Jake was accompanying us so, as far I knew, there could only be one suspect for this atmospheric atrocity. My eyes streaming tears, I glanced at the suspect. Brian’s eyes bored back into me like knives, his face glowed a fiery red. He was obviously embarrassed, I thought.

“Dude!” I said “You smell like you sold your ass to the devil!”

“It wasn’t me man! I think something crawled up your ass and died!”

Just then Jake jumped up and hung his head out the open window.

“Jake” I yelled “You no good hound!”

If we were to survive we had to get Jake out of the car so we did what any ingenious mountain biker would do.
So there we were…with our heads out the window driving as fast as Miss Iva would go trying to escape the stench that still permeated the car. This is where the law comes in, in the form of the local sheriff deputy…my older brother. He pulled us over, which he loved to do every time he saw me in that ratty old car. He immediately began yelling at me.

David! What is Jake doing riding on the roof rack he looks half froze! If this is some kind of “Jackass” stunt I’m gonna”…that’s when he caught a whiff of the evil emissions from Jake and began to turn green.

“Turkey gravy….Sally fed him turkey gravy.” I said. “I think you should go arrest her”

“Ugh!” He said…”get that stinkin’ dog off the roof and outta my face, and stop driving with your head out the window! It’s an extremely unsafe procedure!”

So much for the law part…my brother is such a dick.

We made it the last few miles to the trailhead parking lot in record time and bailed out just before Miss Iva reached critical mass. We all recovered quickly in the open air and thoroughly enjoyed a great holiday ride. Jake seemed to have finally purged himself of the evil within and ran through the woods along side us with his tail held high and a doggy grin on his face.
All in all it turned out to be a pretty good day. But any day spent riding with two of your best friends is a good day.
:mrgreen:
The moral of this story is:
1 Of course…don’t feed your dog turkey gravy. Not my dog anyway…I don’t care what you feed yours. It’s of no consequence to me.
2. Pay attention next time your wife asks you a question…it just might be important.

(I didn't really put Jake on the roof so please don't yell at me)