At Times I Am Downright Maniacal

When I was a bit younger, I was making a sandwich when my brother “rode” the dog into the kitchen. Teddy was a golden retriever, and Ryan was just tall enough that he could walk straddling the dog and it would look like he was actually riding him.

“I’m a cowboy,” he laughed, “shoot me off my horse.”

Always one for a suburban shootout, I whipped out my two-finger revolver and pulled back its thumb-hammer. With a mighty bang (that I had to supply myself) I emptied a round into my brother’s chest.

“Ugh!” My slain brother cried and began a slow-motion death tumble from his mount. He threw back his head, his back arching, arms pinwheeling backwards over his head. Then it happened. His fingers splayed apart, he wheeled one arm back and around and, with pin-point accuracy, jammed his thumb right up the dog’s bottom.

Now, this was a good natured dog. This was a good natured anything, really. I’m a good natured guy and if someone jammed a thumb up my ass without warning, I would be angry. He just kind of took it. Really, that dog did a lot of stuff that placed his sexuality under question. I digress. Regardless of whether or not the dog liked it, my brother most certainly did not.

Gagging and sputtering, he ran into the kitchen and jammed his hand into the sink. While he was frantically wiping up with paper towel, I asked him what happened. Being the caring compassionate older brother I am, I started laughing hysterically when he told me.

“How did you do that?” I gasped.

“I was on the dog, like this,” he straddled the dog again, “and I swung my arm back, like this,” he said, mimicking his arm flailing.

“Yeah, and?”

“And I brought it around and…”

It was a faithful reenactment. I laughed even harder watching him wash his hands a second time. I’d asked him how he’d done it. When it came to the details I hadn’t expected him to be so… anal about it.

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