My Friendship with OJ — Part 2: Pipe Dreams
During our walks home from school, OJ and I would often goad each other with outlandish claims. One of us would declare that he was a master of martial arts and the other would counter by claiming the ownership of authentic nunchuks.
A close approximation to the kind of danger that OJ and I faced ... you know, except a lot scarier.
I would bet him I could balance on an irrigation pipe longer then he could and he would respond by challenging me to a foot race. Our competitive nature led us to engage in many duels — from barbwire fence hopping to impromptu wrestling matches. It was this proclivity towards one-upping the other that led me to confront a stray dog.
During the mid-90s there was an infestation of feral dogs that lived in the outskirts of my neighborhood. Since the residential area was still being developed and there were acres of mesquite tree brush and vegetable crops to hide in, the city’s wild dogs were attracted to the neighborhood like moths to a flame.
Occasionally a stray dog, searching for a drink of water, would cross paths with those of us who walked home from elementary school since a good portion of the journey followed alongside an irrigation ditch turned creek.
Every time we encountered a dog, OJ would tense up and stand perfectly still as if he were hiding from a T-Rex. I noticed OJ’s behavior and thought it odd since his family owned a trio of the most vicious Chihuahuas that were ever hatched. Instead of seeing a boy rightfully afraid of wild dogs, though, I saw an opportunity.
One afternoon as we walked home from school, a large dog wearing a bandana around his neck came bounding out of the brush with his tail wagging. While OJ froze on cue, I bent down and started slapping my hands on my knees — whistling for the dog to come on over.
Having gotten the mutt’s attention, I glanced over to see OJ’s reaction and was surprised to see he had disappeared. Since the dog was blocking the path to our houses, OJ had decided to escape a different way — he had climbed onto an irrigation pipe and was straddling it as if he were riding a horse.
I started laughing. What was there to be afraid of? It’s not like we were dealing with Cujo here — the dog was wearing a bandanna for crying out loud!
As I turned away from OJ to look back at the dog, my laughing suddenly stopped. Instead of the joyful grin of a puppy wanting to play, the dog’s mouth was fixed in a snarl as he approached. Less then a yard away, the dog started to bark at me as he ran at full pace. Being the chicken-hearted wuss I am, I immediately dropped my backpack next to OJ’s and ran over to the irrigation pipe. Soon, both OJ and I were sitting atop the pipe watching as the dog growled at us from the creek bank.
While McAllen is a dry city, the creek luckily had enough water to discourage the dog from leaving dry ground. Unluckily, the dog had the patience of a fisherman and planted himself on the dirt to wait for us.
OJ and I sat on the pipe for almost an hour while we waited for the dog to leave. As we sat, we started to talk. At first, our conversation dealt almost exclusively with what an idiot I was for antagonizing the pooch. Eventually, though, we got to talking about other stuff and discovered that we had more in common then just living in the same neighborhood. By the time the dog had gotten bored of waiting for us to come ashore and had walked off — OJ’s lunchsack in mouth —we were no longer bitter rivals. As evidenced by him pushing me off the pipe and into the water because I caused him to loose a lunchsack, we weren’t exactly friends yet either.
To be continued…
sounds like OJ needs to get together with Michael Vick