Biking down Hawthorne Blvd. with a friend, we noticed a dog sprinting down the street.
"Hey pup" I say. The dog zips past. A man running with two dogs turns quickly down the street behind us.
"Hey, is this your dog?" We yell.
"No, but I know where he lives" he yells back (the man later turns out to be Henry, whose back yard connects to our drive way. Two words "handlebar mustache").
At this point the dog is crossing Hawthorne... without looking both ways (mind you). We hop on our bicycles and ride after him. Meanwhile handlebar Henry (who has ditched his dogs) is running up the street.
"Hey Pup." I yell.
The dog runs on, all the way up 51st.A group of bar goers exit the bar down the street.
"Hey, is this your dog?" they yell.
"No, but there is a man that knows where he lives..."
"Hey pup" I yell.
At this point the dog has turned up Salmon St.. he has two bikes following him, three bar goers, and one handlebar mustache.
"Hey Pup" I yell.
Guess what? That Blimey Dog runs as fast as his legs will carry him... and our wheels will carry us... and the bar goers can concentrate... and Henry's mustache can stay facing down (and not like a curly circus mustache, or a person that rides a classic bike... with the big wheel and the small wheel). That dog runs to the top of a hill. That dog runs right into the fence of his (wait a minute) own backyard. Damn it. He literally through us for a loop. But seriously, someone ought to teach that dog street safety.