The Dog Nipper

In our neighborhood during the early 1960s, it was the norm for dogs and cats to roam freely. There were certain dogs that you learned were bike chasers and the corners where they lived were best avoided. One little terrier that looked very similar to the one from "The Wizard of Oz" was the worst culprit for invoking misery on me on my bike rides to my cousin's house because he lived at the corner on the crest of a hill between us so to avoid him meant that I had to climb a steep hill in either direction to get to my playmates. And it was highly desirable to get there; not only was it easier to play games with more than one, (there were two girls therefore they always had a companion where I was the only girl in our family), but they also had the best and the most enviable Barbie collection around. Their grandmother (not the one from my side of the family), was a prolific crocheter and she always brought them all sorts of fashions at Christmas for their dolls. These crocheted items had multiplied over the years and their Barbie fashion cases were always bursting with an array of colorful dresses, pants suits, bathing suits, evening gowns and even tiny matching accessories like shoes and headbands.

At times the desire to take a gamble on getting there more quickly and on the terrier-monster perhaps being inside his house was overwhelming enough that I would take the risk of being confronted by a vicious attack on my black Keds sneaker-clad feet. Mostly his attacks were more bark than bite; though, even at that, they were enough to get my heart rate up and to send my bike veering off from one side of the road to the other.

Knowing that my terrifying opponent was there was enough to intimidate the bravest of heart and meant either a much longer trip or possibly developing a strategy for kicking out at him while still remaining upright on the bike. Unfortunately, I also feared that that type of strategy might very well invoke a storm of protest from his owners and, therefore, I decided much of the time I'd prefer to take on the hills. As a consolation for the extra leg work, the beach house was located at the base of my cousin's street and I would have time to stop by the concession stand there on the way and get some kind of a treat, maybe a few packages of chocolate, strawberry or banana Kits, a Black Cow bar or a Coke.

Looking back on those days, the dog was only working in my best interests and today I could use some of his motivation to make me ride up any one of the neighborhood hills using only the muscles of my legs to propel myself uphill on a coaster bike. It would certainly get the muscle-tone back in my legs.