ahahahahahah
that explains the loyalty...
iloveyou
I actually used it in a short story of mine I wrote for the series Adventures in the Growing Trade some years ago.
GOING TO THE DOGS
Coming out of the bush in the fall, loaded up with 150 lbs of wet weight, is always invigorating. But, as you glide in on still waters under the cover of darkness, hearing big dogs barking in the woods near your landing spot has a way of chasing the fun right out of things.
Growing pot outdoors illegally is like a carnival ride: exhilarating, but dangerous. The moment a bolt comes off the ride and things begin to fly apart, its time to pay your dues for an extreme lifestyle.
I'll never forget that night. As we drifted in, the shadow of the mountain cast hints of fall into the early October air revealing our breath. A weak sun was sinking, tired of shining warmly all summer, the light casting an amber halo around the mountain as an owl heralded in nighttime in the Cheakamus Valley. The only sounds were the gentle strokes of the paddle in the water.
The beauty was somewhat veiled by pressing concerns, my mind stuck between arresting beauty and arresting officers. It was always hard to reconcile such natural beauty with the thought of cold, steel bars clanging shut. Would we get out paradise again tonight without being arrested?
When I heard the barking, I looked at my partner as if to say, "What the fuck?" and stroked my paddle deeply until we hit shore. We frantically piled the stinking green garbage bags out onto the shoreline and into to the bush. I was now hyperventilating, tremulous, starting to sweat. Goddamn it, I was becoming very uncomfortable. To boot, the dumb-fuck greenhorn I was with panicked, scurrying off like a demented garden gnome to hide in the patch we had close to our landing spot. I just shook my head, watching him scuttle and trying to determine if what Id heard really were police dogs. But what the fuck else could they be? Dogs barking in the woods 50 kilometers from nowhere, and right where we come ashore with our booty? More questions than answers, but right now I had to deal with the problem at hand.
Lying in the bush, straining to hear muffled conversation coming from the direction where Id heard the dogs, I tried to piece together the drama unfolding through the trees. I could now hear my third partner at the rendezvous point conversing with the mysterious person/persons with the dogs, but I couldn't make out their conversation. Was he being interrogated by the cops? Fuck, I had to get closer!
Skulking through the bush like a downed fly-boy in some B war movie, I got close enough to see shadowy figures through the trees. I heard a guy whistle to the dogs, a truck door slamming and the gurgle of the turbo diesel trailing off into the wilderness as it pulled away.
After some moments of puzzled silence, I broke through the bush to find my partner sitting in the rendezvous vehicle, his crossed feet hanging out the window and a large joint hanging from his mouth. He gave me a "whats up?" look and proceeded to tell me about some redneck out running his dogs.
FUUUUCK! What are the chances?
