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Doggie Style

I have the worst luck with dogs. There's the three or four who've tried to make our home their own. And failed.

Most memorable is the time Rob drove me two hours to test drive a 65 Chevy pick-up truck, and while the men did the proverbial "kicking of the tires," the pooch owner did some territory marking of his own -- on my pant leg. Rob, who saw the offense take place, gave a gruff reprimand to its owner: "Your dog just pissed on my wife!" Which is, to this day, one of my favorite quotes and, no, Rob did not buy the truck.

Now after a day of delayed flights and missed connections and quick re-routing, I found myself starving and driving through the sleepy town of Klamath Falls, Oregon. There wasn't a Mc-anything in sight - only a tractor repair shop connected to a 6-patron grill. While the hamburgers were sizzling on the grill, I checked out the latest in John Deere. The guard dog greeted me at the entrance with a cursory crotch sniff and then climbed aboard for a hello hump. Rob waltzed in just as the dog was lighting his post-coital cigarette. "What's up with the red rocket?" he asked with a nod. "I need a t-shirt," I said. "I just got humped in Klamath Falls."

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