My Doberman saved my life this week  4-12-15

Nikki is my 87 pound Doberman puppy. She loves to walk. In all actuality she prefers to run, but will settle for a walk... provided it is a minimum of 8 miles. I do not like to walk for 8 miles at a stretch however, so we usually compromise on a distance of 2 miles or less. We use a chrome "choke" collar and a 20 foot retractable leash. Nikki can accelerate to at least half of her top speed within 20 feet. If I am lost in my thoughts and my dog decides to lunge at a squirrel, rabbit, or cat I may experience an incredibly unpleasant "tug" on my arm as she reaches the outer limit of the leash and de-accelerates suddenly. The "tug" is somewhat akin to having your arm grabbed by a toothless great white shark. The force would dislocate a human's shoulder every forth occurrence or so. Of course years of workouts have taken me to a super-human status, although it is still startling when she arrives at the end of her lunge nonetheless. But Nikki did not save my life this week by lunging. She saved it merely by being with me. We were nearing the end of one of our marathon walks when we passed by a small car dealership in my neighborhood. Front and center stood a beautiful dark blue and chrome Triumph 1200cc road bike. It has been exactly 30 years since I sold my last Triumph 650 Bonneville. My old one was fast. The engine on this motorcycle was nearly twice as big. Due to some financial successes I have been feeling more well-to-do than usual. The open road beckoned. Waves of nostalgia poured over me. I still have my motorcycle license (I mooch a bike two or three times a year.) An eager salesman was rushing out to greet me. I looked down at Nikki...she didn't look ready to balance herself on a motorcycle during a test ride today. I waved at the approaching salesman, stepped away from the bike, and we continued on our way. And that is how my Doberman saved my life. Sarasota is a terrific town, but the age of the average driver is about 94 years, six months. A motorcyclist dies every week. The most common explanation at every vehicular accident is "I'm sorry sonny, I didn't see you." To return to the home page, click here.