Big and Bad Jonny
Greyhounds are fast. Extremely fast, in fact. This wasn’t concerned me when I was looking for a pet, oh no. In fact, I was pretty sure it was a good thing: I would take Big Jonny to the local field where all the other dogs played and unleash him there! My plan was to watch the other dogs cower in the wake of Big Jonny, which would, in turn, grant me the reputation of being ‘that man with the really fast dog, ooh, what a man’.
And it worked. It worked most excellently. Big Jonny and I became fast friends and within weeks he was known all around as the fastest dog in miles!
Then came a problem. In week 3, while working at my computer, Big Jonny burst in to action inside the house. For three or four minutes he tore around like a bat trying to get out of hell very quickly, knocking things over and sinking his big old claws in to the carpet. I was powerless to stop B.J. of course, and B.J. didn’t care that I was trying to stop him. Once he was restrained—tied-up—I made the decision to call the home he had come from: “Look here,” I said with obvious anger and slight fear (B.J. was staring at me with rage from being tied-up, as would be expected), “B.J. is tearing around these here parts and I am powerless to stop him!”
The man on the end of the phone laughed, then sighed. “Well–he is a racing dog, and we did tell you that,” he said.
I said, “You said he was reluctant to race!”
He said, “He is usually, but maybe your carpet resembles a race-track.”
My heart sank. He was spot on. My carpet did resemble a race-track. Mainly because Big Jonny’s sharpened claws had carved a race-track in to it!