I meant to write a post over the weekend but a couple things set me off my routine. The first was waking up Saturday morning to find my latest revision of a future release called Kona Gold (which was 90% finished) had disappeared. So, several days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs vanished from Earth. Oh, I looked for the file in question. . .everywhere. When I ran out of ideas, I Googled the problem, then I YouTubed the problem, and after a couple more hours I still couldn’t find the file. I turned to my computer expert Randy and after six email exchanges with ideas and Recuva programs, etc., he couldn’t find it either. I swear to God, I started questioning my sanity. I can hear you murmuring, “Well, it’s about time, Mike,” and you have a good point. Anyway, I am now 60% revising the previous draft, so all is not lost.

So, once I reconciled myself to several more days of intense concentration interrupted by occasional belly laughs, I chilled out. The day was hot and when the late afternoon shadows covered the route to a little nearby store, I took my sweet doggy Lola for a walk, thinking I’d grab a sunset beer to assure total tranquility. It would go good with the sunset doobie. Our first dog encounter was with Goldie, this little pitbull/something mix that wags its tail like crazy to people but is known to charge cars and other dogs. Goldie, who I like, came over for pets the other day, snuck behind my back at lightning speed and bit Lola for no reason except, well, turns out Goldie can be a dick. I mellowed him with pets and a stern rebuke, “No biting, Goldie!” He shrugged and cruised off. Next, the crazy black dog with four dew claws. . .something I can’t remember seeing before. Along with me, that made at least two mutants on the block. The black dog is named Berzerka, and as you might guess, is out of its mind. At least it’s friendly. Then comes the huge pitbull near the corner. Fortunately, though muscular, Whitey is old. . .sort of the Jack LaLanne of dogs. . .too ancient to get up to bite us! Good boy, Whitey!

So all was cool as we approached the corner and hung a left. Up ahead I saw a group of people petting a German Shepherd. I love German shepherds, even crazy Luna (a dog that barks at birds, the air, and sometimes, nothing at all). I suspect her full named was Lunatic. We’d recently adopted her from a guy who bragged, “She’s an outdoor dog, absolutely no hassle.” He didn’t mention she and everyone in the vicinity stayed awake all night. Well, there was that pesky air to bark at. No doubt he was an insomniac who is now sleeping much better. I solved that problem by letting Luna in at night. The German shepherd up ahead spotted playful Lola (who loves all other dogs and wags her tail like a maniac to make sure they know that). He immediately left the people petting him to come say hi. Shepherds are so friendly! He seemed excited by the prospect of meeting a new pal. For some reason, Lola seemed less than excited. The shepherd picked up speed and went into full sprint mode, so eager was he for affection. Lola sensed otherwise and darted behind my leg. That way, when the German shepherd lunged teeth-first, he buried those teeth in my knee. . .to be specific, on both sides of my knee. He had quite a set of jaws. Smart move, Lola!

After mauling me for awhile, he let go. But only because a passerby had picked up a rock and hurled it into his back. Startled by the rock, the shepherd ran into the street, right into traffic, where he narrowly escaped injury but caused a four-car fender bender. I stood there thirty feet away, eyes popped out, jaw on my chest, and bleeding like a stuck pig. I looked at my knee and almost puked. With all the blood gushing out, I couldn’t tell how bad the wounds were, but the man who threw the rock said, “You better get to the hospital!” I was thinking, “First the vet for poor Lola,” only she didn’t have a scratch on her. I limped on home, my leg covered with blood, scaring children back into their houses but attracting every dog in the neighborhood with my tasty blood reek. After fending them off, I put Lola in the pad, hopped in my truck for a ride to the Emergency Room. At the corner I saw two police cars, four crashed cars, and four furious drivers. But no German shepherd. The guy who threw the rock said, “Hey man, there you are, everyone’s looking for you.” “Why?” “You kidding, you caused a four-car accident. You fled the scene. You’re gonna have to talk to the police. . .” Whoosh. “Hey, where you going?”

Though I’d washed the wounds and put some hydrogen peroxide on my knee, by the time I reached the Emergency Room, blood was cascading down my leg again. The nurse who admitted me fainted. “Jeez, it’s not that bad, is it?” After rushing to the restroom to vomit, she humored me, “No, not if you don’t mind a stump.” This was not good news. . .stumps itch like crazy. She asked for some basic info, name, address, phone number. . . “Your name is Michael Gooed?” “No, Good, not Gooed, you know, like Bueno.” Her eyes lit up, then narrowed. “Ah, Señor Bueno. . .wait a moment, you’re Señor Bueno?” “Well. . .” “Wait here a moment, please,” she said and rushed out of the room. Five minutes later, a phalanx of police surrounded me. Their jefe, Capitano Herrara said, “Funny, you don’t look like a cartel leader.” “I get a lot of that,” I replied. “Also, you’ve made a huge mistake.” “Oh, I don’t think so, Señor Bueno,” he countered. “We’ve double-checked with the CIA. Dr. Strangelove has standing orders that you be apprehended for questioning.” Dad was always trying to find out what I was up to. . .and then put a stop to it. “Yeah, well, meanwhile I need a doctor.” “Yes, you do,” he said, gagging at the sight of me. “Urgently,” he added. “Which is why the CIA has already sent us one.” “No kidding?” No sooner had I said that, then I heard a voice that made my skin crawl. It hissed, “So, Señor Bueno, we meet again!” Oh my God, it was my old nemesis Dr. Joseph Mengele, Jr., Chief Torturer for the CIA’s Dirty Tricks Department, and one of Dad’s minions.

I was so screwed. “Well, let’s have a look at that leg. Holy Jesus,” blurted Dr. Mengele, Jr. That’s gonna have to go.” “Seriously, Doc? It’s that bad?” “No, but you know how I love to operate!” Oh, I did. . .who could forget those excruciating sessions with Dr. Kim Chee, evil-breathed CIA Dentist/Interrogator? I would have escape right then and there, except for the restraints and guns trained on me. When I awoke in the recovery room, sure enough I had a stump and it did itch like crazy. No doubt from the effort of regenerating. Again, I thanked Dr. Strangelove for tinkering with my DNA, removing any genes for common sense but tossing in some starfish to make up for it. He knew that would help me heal from all the accidents I’d be incurring through lack of common sense. Alone for the moment in the recovery room, I realized I needed to get the hell out of there before something weird happened and hopped through a window. . . Long story short, late afternoon walks can be exciting!

 

On another note, High In The Andes will be ready to release on October 20th, 2017 (long as it too doesn’t disappear). So I’m excited about that. If you’d like to get a Free Advanced Reader Copy you can join my Launch Team. All I ask is an Amazon review when my book is published. If that sounds cool, please click here to join the Señor Bueno Launch Team!