__(09/18/2009) Finding myself left without a designated driver for this Friday night, I looked for an alternative. So, I set out to find a giant tricycle, preferably wooden, to carry me through the downtown bar circuit and home.
While Googling for such a conveyance, I happened across a site for Dog Scooters. I love to take my dog, Doc Grizzly most everywhere I go. But most places won't let you take a dog inside unless it's a service dog...stick with me here. What if I start a movement to have Doc recognized as a Designated Drunk Dog? He wouldn't be drunk, of course, I would. But, he would be trained to get me home safely from whatever bar stool I was parked on at closing time. I figure it's got to be easier than maneuvering a blind person through the city, which dogs do quite effectively...and that gives me a great ad campaign...instead of just "Service Dogs for the Blind," we'll be "Service Dogs for the Blind Drunk."
At this point, I am loving this idea. I'm already imagining a variation on the requisite Service Dog orange vest for Doc. I'll stitch him up a superhero cape and bedazzle it with a big DDD for Designated Drunk Dog. I don't normally believe in dressing up animals with two exceptions: 1) Cats on Thanksgiving--they make the best pilgrims. 2) Goats on any occasion, as per picture. Further explanation to follow.
So, it's all going perfectly according to plan until I look at the scooter. The contraption is just a regular stupid scooter with a curved bar on the side that you hook the dog under. The dogs in the photographs look humiliated as hell, and the owners look horrified. No, I will not scooter, even if I have to call a cab, wait three hours, and pay eighty bucks to get home. BUT--one of their links leads me to Dog Carts.
It's adorable...it's classy...it comes in red...I'll be the toasted toast of the town. It's settled. I'm getting a cart, hooking Doc up, and jaunting around Lexington in a carriage. And since there is only one way to dress when doing so, which is in full Victorian garb with high lace collars, corsets, and bustles, I will immediately set about having such made.
But wait...upon closer inspection I find the Dog cart is actually a Dog/Goat Cart. I LOVE GOATS...and always have. Proof is in the picture. That is Popcorn, the patriotic glamour goat who I walked around on a leash and let sleep in my bed throughout elementary school. This portrait was taken when he won "Best-Dressed Pet" at the Montgomery County Fair. My mother sent a copy to President Gerald Ford...who wrote me back on White House stationary that he actually signed.
Anyway, I now know that the answer to all my prayers is a Goat Cart. It will get my drunk ass home. It will solve my need for publicity--cause you know the local press would be all over a bitch who rides around town in a Goat Cart. I'll make the goat a little ring master costume and I'll dress like a Vegas showgirl, even in the middle of the week in the middle of the day. This freak show is going all carnival crazy glamorous. Of course, I have a few bugs to work out, but expect to see me soon being pulled toward Mia's by Popcorn the Second.
(04/ 27 /2012) I am sad to report that I am no closer to having a designated driver for this Friday night. Doc is still not a registered DDD. Frank will not let me have a goat. However, I am working on an alternative in the form of a zip line that will run between my house and the corner of Short & Limestone.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.