To the Editor:
In case you missed the first two chapters of Sidecar Stanley, take a minute and just imagine a motorcycle with a sidecar. Now in that sidecar place the handsomest golden retriever you could ever hope to see. On the sidecar embroidered in gold script is his monogram (Sidecar Stanley).
Stanley is tastefully dressed in a leather jacket, pilots jacket and custom wraparound goggles that cost as much as prescription glasses for a family of five. Stanley is so handsome I nicknamed him “pretty boy”. Stanley also has a personality that befits his Royal repose.
How many times has this happened to you? You go to the market. After shopping you go, to the parking lot. The day is gray, with just enough cold drizzling rain and wind to be bothersome. You're holding your groceries in a most precarious position when all of a sudden you are shaken from your reverie by the unbridled, barking and scratching of a dog locked in a car whose only remaining purpose in life is to rip your head off. When you regain your sense of balance you realize the pitch of the bark is not frightening, just startling, a minute later you realize the bark belongs to a pound Schnauzer…so much for bark recognition!
I'm sure that most of us will agree that the mention of a pit-bull automatically brings a fearful picture to mind…Through some misfortune you end up in a pit with a pit bull. The pit bull’s only remaining purpose in life is to rip your head off – and he can do it!
It was nice sunny summer day my wife and I were out for a nice relaxing ride I noticed Stanley and his parents Rick and Kathy coming in our direction. After a brief conversation we decided to all go up the road to a nice outside ice cream restaurant. We purchased our ice creams (Stanley likes natural vanilla only) and were popular to a bench under a shady tree. All of a sudden I heard what could aptly be described as a sound of a 99 Ford F 86 on steroids. Even more menacing was a visual. The truck appears to have what appears to be airplane tires. If you ever had to change a tire on this behemoth you would need a crane and a five-man crew, but you can never, never give this contraption a flat tire unless you attack it with a Panzer Grade A 447 2X German Tank (circa 1943). I stepped back so as I could see. “What pray tell was driving this contraption?” And then I saw him. Mr. Pit Bull. Mr. Pit Bull was just this side of a small horse. Mr. Pit Bull was made up of nothing but teeth and muscles. As I didn't see the dog's owner, and given Mr. Pit Bull's state of agitation, I could only assume that Mr. Pit Bull had eaten his owner. Mr. Pit Bull had now firmly ensconced himself in the driver seat. His eyes were red and the veins in his head were bulging and pulsating. Mr. Pit Bull was straining to get out so he could eat Rick, Kathy, my wife and I, and save Stanley and the motorcycle for dessert.
Finally all the straining and growling caught Stanley’s attention – what now?
Stanley took one casual look over his shoulder at Mr. Pit Bull then looked away.
Stanley continued eating his ice cream and completely ignored Mr. Pit Bull. “See I told you so, Stanley is not only the most handsome dog in town, he is also the smartest!”
Robert Grier, Kingston
(That’s Mr. Bob to you)