Becoming a Biker Pitbully

I was only eight weeks old when I said goodbye to mommy and daddy and moved across the street, to live with a man who already had a number of dogs. He said he wanted to give a pitbull a try, since our neighborhood was one of the areas of the city where it was still okay for dogs like me to live. Gareth was the big brother who towered over us all, but the dachshunds (Galahad, Tristan, and Dinadan) were the bossy ones, even if they weren’t any bigger than me. The man was careful to watch over and protect me whenever there was a disagreement, but he was also very firm about behaving appropriately. In only a couple of weeks, I learned what it meant when he said “sit” and was happy to do so. A year later we started doing much more specific training and he began calling me his “service puppy.” Then I got a really handsome purple vest and started going with him everywhere, while the other boys had to wait at home. I think it was about six months after that when a big box was delivered and the man unpacked a peculiar leather seat and strapped it to the back of his motorcycle. I didn’t really know what was happening until he buckled me into a harness, lifted me into the seat, and buckled some straps to my harness. Hm. Everything seemed okay, I guess. Then he started the motor, revved it a couple of times and looked at me as if asking a question. Everything still seemed fine, so I just stared back without saying a word. He got on in front of me and the bike started moving down the street. After a couple of slow trips up and down the block, he stopped and looked at me again. I smiled back so he steered the bike out onto the street again, but this time turned onto a larger street with lots more traffic–and started going much faster. I put my chin on his left shoulder and peered ahead as we zoomed past all sorts of wonderfully interesting things. A traffic light ahead of us turned red and we slowed to a stop for a moment. Within a pickup truck in the lane next to us, a black dog looked out at me with his ears up, as if to ask, “What in the world are you doing on that motorcycle?” “Having fun!” I smiled back. In the years since then, the world has become a much bigger place for me, but I’ve also learned that it’s my job to help the man cope with social situations anywhere and everywhere. Traveling by motorcycle (and occasionally by airplane through noisy airports) is just among the perks that comes with the job. I was pretty depressed for a couple months when big brother Gareth died and the dachshunds had to go live somewhere else for their own safety, but the man found a couple of new brothers for me (Percival and Gawain) and we’re a happy bunch once again. I think everything has turned out pretty well. — Bedivere