When I was in high school, I lived on a cul-de-sac street that had a slight hill leading into the cul-de-sac. It was a quiet neighborhood that didn't have alot of thru traffic. My house was a couple of lots up from the end of the street, at the top of the hill. Around the corner lived a guy who had an old weiner dog (dauchhound -sp?). The dog, like many of its breed, had become paralyzed in its hind legs, but was otherwise fine. The guy had rigged up a little doggy wheelchair thing, and Wheelie the weiner dog was often out and about in the neighborhood, happy as could be wheeling around with his little front legs pumping furiously. You could always hear him coming before seeing him, as the guy didn't keep the wheels oiled too well.
So I'm sitting on the porch one day after school, high as a kite, and I hear Wheelie, moving fast. I look up the street, and around the corner comes a cat, all puffed up and haulin' ass, and right behind the cat comes Wheelie, on a mission. The cat takes a hard left into some bushes right in front of my house. Wheelie, god love him, tried to make the left too, but the forces of momentum, gravity, and about a 10 degree downgrade were all against him.
You know how it is when you're stoned - time kinda stretches out and things happen in slow motion.
When Wheelie tried to hang that hard left, well, he just jack-knifed like an overloaded tractor-trailer truck on an icy road. His ass end swung around, but his front feet kept scrabbling left - he sort of pivoted. Then, he started rolling down the hill, ass-end first, with his front legs working furiously to try to get some traction. SqueakSqueakScratchSratch! He rolled down to the end of the cul-de-sac, bumped into the curb, and then just kind of shook his head, sneezed, and sat there looking around all kind of pissed off/embarassed like.
I have never in my life laughed so hard. I was paralyzed with laughter, because my sides hurt so bad I couldn't move. But, I did finally get myself together, walked down to Wheelie, picked him up and took him up the hill to the corner. I think he was grateful; he yapped at me a bit, and then took off down his street like nothing had ever happened.
Wheelie continued to patrol the neighborhood for another 5 years, but not once after that did I ever see him get anywhere close to that hill.
My MC: gut-splitting laughter, and memories of Wheelie the Wacky Weiner Dog