Go on up, you Baldhead

2 Kings 2:23

(The rest of this post is unrelated.)

Jenifer and I drove down 27th Street on Wednesday evening on our way to Sonic. My mouth salivated as I thought of the cherry, vanilla Diet Coke that awaited me. Her poison? A chocolate Coke... gag. We jerked to a stop at the red light on Holdrege Street.

"Is that guy playing with those dogs?" She said.

In the parking lot of the Lucky Chef Express to our left, a tall man was waving his hat as two pit bulls jumped around him.

"Sure..." I said absently, finishing a text.

I looked again. No. That man was not playing with those pit bulls. The two, adult pit bulls - one black and white, the other tan - clawed and bit at the mans arms as he tried warding them off with his baseball cap. Suddenly the man ran into 27th Street, the traffic around him squeaking to a stop. He dodged in and out of vehicles, trying to get the pit bulls to stop chasing him. But they continued to bite at his baggy jeans and hands. He ran around the intersection about 30 feet in front of us on the other side of the median. Without warning he jumped onto the hood of a silver sedan.

"What is he doing?" I said to Jen, my voice rising in shock.

Then, with the grace of a man who had done it before, he leaped onto to the roof of the car, laid on his stomach facing the front and reached his hands through the open windows on either side of the car. The dogs jumped and scratched the sides of the car. As it sped off down 27th Street, the dogs ran after it.

We didn't see what else happened. Traffic started moving again, and we drove in shock to Sonic as I called animal control, trying to find a way to describe what had just happened.

(Sorry, this is a little more literal than I usually write... but REALLY... WHAT?!?!)