From: nowhere@nowhere.com   
      
   In article <524254108757456747124727@news.kornet.net>,   
    edward847@earthlink.net wrote:   
      
   > This is not a chain letter.   
      
      
      
      
      
   Me and the girls (my pack-hiking Sammies and my Min-Pin, who could be   
   the first pack-hiking Min-Pin ever) have seen some incredible things   
   when we go pack-hiking. This story is somewhat graphic in nature, so   
   I've left a lot of that kind of stuff out. Use your own imagination.   
      
   We were hoofing it through the Cleveland Metro Parks with about two   
   miles left on our ten mile hike, and we came up to a picnic pavilion   
   area. Off to the left were several portable toilets, porta potties, and   
   one was being used in a very unusual fashion. There was some sort of   
   training cart parked next to the porta potty, with four Siberian   
   Husky-Malamute looking dogs in harnesses, all hooked to one gang line (I   
   think that is what it is called).   
      
   The gang line was probably 20 feet long, and went directly into the door   
   of the porta potty. The dogs were not hooked to the training cart at   
   all, so it appeared they were out on a port-o'let sled riding mission. I   
   can only assume there was no way to anchor the cart and dogs while the   
   driver was taking care of business, so she got the brilliant idea to   
   just take the gang line into the porta potty and hold on to the dogs   
   while she accomplished her goal.   
      
   You are probably thinking the exact same thoughts I was when I saw this   
   little set up: Recipe for disaster. And of course this story wouldn't   
   really be worth typing if it ended with the woman coming out and driving   
   off with her dogs into the sunset.   
      
   I am fishing for my digital camera to take a picture of the port-o'let   
   pulling team when my dogs yank their leashes, almost toppling me over. A   
   squirrel has decided to stop nearby, pick up a nut and chow it while my   
   three dogs watch. So far, the four sled dogs haven't seen the squirrel,   
   but it is only a matter of time, as my dogs are doing the "If I wasn't   
   on this leash I would kick that squirrel's a$$" dance.   
      
   Sure enough, the port-o'let pullers' heads all snap to the direction of   
   the squirrel, and they all appear to get the same idea as my three   
   straining at their leashes. My dogs see those dogs spot the squirrel,   
   and some sort of dog tribal hunting nonverbal communication thing   
   happens, as every one of the seven dogs on either end of the field   
   realizes that its pretty much a race to see which of the two groups can   
   get to the squirrel faster. My dogs redouble their pulling efforts, and   
   the four dog sled team reacted as one, and lunged full steam for the   
   squirrel.   
      
   The port-o'let sort of spins about 30 degrees and rocks like the   
   dickens. Luckily, it doesn't tip over, but kind of rocks back and forth   
   a time or two and then rights itself. Well, that is just unacceptable to   
   the sled team, and they give another huge yank. The port-o'let spins yet   
   again, and from inside some sort of human screech occurs.   
      
   The screech seemed to slow the sled dogs down and they settled into a   
   nervous stand. At this point the squirrel decided the dogs weren't going   
   to get him so he started doing some kind of "na,na,na can't get me"   
   dance, infuriating the port-o'let pullers. If you ever wondered why dog   
   sleds are built long and low to the ground, as opposed to small and   
   tall, like, say -- the shape of a porta potty, you need no longer wonder   
   if this is a design flaw.   
      
   Anyhow, the pulling and barking started up again. The porta potty did   
   its best to stay standing, rocking heavily back and forth. The dogs,   
   sensing victory, forgot completely about the squirrel, and started   
   timing their pulls with the rocking, and of course triumphantly gave one   
   last tug and yanked the porta potty over. For some reason, they just   
   stopped pulling after the porta potty settled on the ground.   
      
   (I'm not sure what happened to the squirrel at this point, although if   
   he was anything like that insurance commercial where the two squirrels   
   make the car wreck and high five each other, then my guess is he ran off   
   into the woods to get his friends so he could show them what he'd   
   accomplished.)   
      
   From the porta potty came a series of cuss words unrepeatable in this   
   story, so I figured I'd better see if I could help. The porta potty   
   unfortunately had landed face down, meaning the door was now the bottom.   
      
   I tied my dogs to a tree, and ventured toward the port-o'let. I asked if   
   the occupant was OK. She said yes, in a lot more colorful and verbal way   
   than just yes, but for the purposes of this story we'll just say she   
   said yes.   
      
   The porta potty hadn't fared as well. You could tell it was hurt because   
   there was a lot of blue fluid leaking from it. I told the woman that I   
   would have to roll the port-o'let on its side to get the door open and   
   she should find something to hang on to. Well a couple good shoves   
   later, the thing rolled 90 degrees and the door was exposed.   
      
   The door opened and out crawled a blue mama Smurf, covered with the blue   
   blood of the dying port-o'let. Her dogs came running and decided she   
   needed a bath. About this point she realized that step 10 in the   
   bathroom process entitled "put your pants back on" had been skipped, so   
   she disappeared back into the port-o'let.   
      
   Well, she was in absolutely no mood to talk about her ride on the wild   
   side, which I didn't blame her, so she got the short version of what had   
   happened outside and I spared her the indignity of having to recite what   
   happened from inside. I helped her hook her dogs back up to the cart   
   looking thing, and off she went, glowing blue as she went drove down the   
   path and back into the woods.   
      
   I can't imagine what all the other visitors thought as they walked   
   serenely through the park and were passed by a pissed off blue Smurf and   
   her merry band of blue-tongued dogs.   
      
      
   --   
   "...If the beasts were gone, we would die from a great loneliness of   
   spirit." - Chief Seattle   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)