Remember when you were a kid and there was that one stray dog in the neighborhood that had something wrong with him? Maybe it was a limp or an eye that was clouded over. Could have been a badly healed leg or torn up ear even.

Remember how when you hit him with rocks to drive him off he didn't really give a damn and wouldn't leave? It was like he was so far gone into his tiny sad little doggy world that he didn't even realize he was getting hit with rocks.

Remember how you and the other kids started getting a kick out of pelting him. You couldn't believe he just stood there and took it. You'd have contests to see who could hit him where and you'd invite other kids in the neighborhood to show them this freak loser dog that wouldn't run off when you nailed him with rocks over and over again.

And remember when you finally told your dad about the dog and he got a serious look in his eye and asked you if anybody ever got bit by that dog? He seemed relieved when you said nobody ever got bit, it just stood there and took the rocks. Then he went for a quick drive after getting that weird shaped canvas bag from the back of his closet and you never saw that dog again.

Well, that dog was rabid.

Thank you, Jack Handey. And for the record, I've never hit animals with rocks.

I'm jealous, the little wanker never responded to my email.

Yeah, I sort of lost that ramble somewhere in the first paragraph and tried to recover but just sort of pushed it from a tail spin into a nosedive. Ah well, they can't all be winners, eh?

I never used rocks either. We had a special snow shovel just for rabid dogs.