Notes From A Walkman Junkie: The Dogman Only Bites Once And It Really Smarts
It had been two decades since I had woken up in a strange hotel in Michigan. My pretty, little cousin was getting married to a swell guy in a couple of days and I was there for moral support, awkward hugs and plenty of booze.
I was hungry so I went downstairs to sample the complimentary nosh in the hotel lobby. I had a blueberry yogurt and an apple, but it wasn’t long before I realized that women’s breakfast was not going to get me very far. I needed coffee, and fast. The problem was, Michigan hates coffee and I was running out of patience and gum.
If I found myself in one more coffee joint, asking the waitress why my water tastes like coffee, I was going to go nuts, but I had more important things to worry about; The Dogman was out there and somehow I doubt his taste in people was as particular as mine in coffee.
I was not really sure if the legend of the infamous Michigan Dogman was real or not, all I knew is I did not want to take any chances and wind up dead, or worse, with all of my shoes chewed up and damp pillow stuffing everywhere.
My search for not lousy coffee led me to a joint called Tiny Boots, which explained all of those tiny boots and the smell. I could feel the local patrons’ eyes on me the minute I walked in and I could tell that it was the kind of place where they would rip the new line Target hoodie right off of your back, so I ordered and drank up fast, then I gave the waitress a tip and she gave me one, “Stay away from The Dogman and the meatloaf.”
The helpful advice from the waitress was appreciated, but Michigan is a strange place; it’s the kind of place where you may or may not run into someone who may or may not mistake you for someone who may or may not have touched their penis twenty-one years ago and where you are likely to be given a Bloody Mary, a bottle opener from a haunted washroom to keep for a few days, and a balance bracelet all in the same evening. Dogmen and questionable meatloaf seemed to be the least of my worries.
I was knee deep in pre-wedding functions and for someone as socially inept as me, that only meant one thing, the top score on the punching machine was eight-hundred and I was punching a seventy-one. And I packed too many dresses and not enough appropriate footwear and I don’t know very much about ferns.
The wedding day eventually came and went, my pretty, little cousin was married by the power of Greyskull and a couple of days later, I hopped a flight home. I never did cross paths with The Dogman, but I did run across an unusually large squirrel and a decent cup of coffee.
I am attaching Que Sera Sera performed by Sly and The Family Stone for you, and naturally, The Dogman to enjoy.