Sone people say that dogs have no sense of time, based on the fact that we’re just as ecstatic to see you after five minutes as after five days. The sound of dad’s car pulling up in the driveway triggers a paroxysm of joy that can only eventually be subdued by bolting madly around the yard, then into the Casa carrying at least half of the yard with me on my great white hooves.
At least that’s mom’s approximation; dad’s told her a million times to stop exaggerating.
When dad hits the ignition on the motorcycle, the seconds that pass before we can get moving stretch into an eternity of anticipation; but our time spent together on the bike seems to pass in a microsecond.
It hardly seems fair, does it?
People wonder why dad and I ride together; is it the attention factor of taking a dog on a motorcycle? To spread the message of the Crate? Just because it’s “fun”? As far as I’m concerned, any reason at all is fine by me, but the real reason is much more simple.
The average lifespan of a dog is between 10-15 years compared to threescore and ten of a human; this brief period of time where our paths intersect vanishes all to quickly, never to return. It’s imperative that we milk every iota from every second we have together in this life, as it’s obvious we have been granted a rare gift, an opportunity to combine two of the finest experiences; dogs and motorcycles.
It just doesn’t get any better.
When we ride,invariably someone will always comment on how dangerous it must be, is she strapped in? don’t you worry?, etc, etc… of course dad worries; he’s a human. He’s always reaching back to see if I’m still there, choosing the route with the least traffic, and performing countless calculations to ensure we arrive aimlessly at our destination we didn’t have planned, wherever that may or may not be.
However, I refuse to worry, as I have faith in dad, just as you should have faith in your personal Father, however you envision Him to be. Life is an awesome ride that sometimes involves accidents, speeding tickets(dad calls them “performance awards”), traffic jams and foul weather; the harder you twist the throttle, the faster everything, good and not so good, seems to come rushing at you.
While the “bad” experiences tend to stand out in our minds, the actual reality is that the vast majority of the journey involves none of these things. The hum of the tires, the throb of the engine, the constant approach of the ever elusive horizon are the real text of the story, the bad experiences are simply the punctuation; without them, the story would just run together.
Much like one of dad’s eternal sentences.
Besides, statistics show that many more people die in hospital beds every day than in motorcycle accidents in a year…
I think it’s high time that we do something about those dastardly beds!