The Icelandic Canadian - 01.09.2004, Qupperneq 31

Vol. 59 #1
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
29
was prone to exaggerating events in order
to make stories of my life more interesting,
but then of course my mother has never
been on the wrong end of the slavering
jaws of a two-hundred-kilogram wolf. As
the behemoth sniffed curiously at the frigid
air, pinning me with its pale blue eyes, a
thousand plans of action flitted through my
mind. However, none of them were possi-
ble, as conscious thought had been overrid-
den by instinct; unfortunately the well-
known fight-or-flight impulse failed to
engage, and I was left with the default
instinct, stand-there-staring-and-be-
doomed. My entire life flashed before my
eyes, all nine years of it, and I reflected
sadly in that split-second that I would
never reach the realm of double-digits.
We stood there motionless for an
unbearable moment, which seemed to
endure for an eternity (but was really only
long enough for the instant replay of my
life and the complete emptying of my blad-
der), after which I heard a low growl
emerge from the cavern that was its chest. I
knew then that Bray Road East would soon
be bereft of its paper carrier. Clearly the
gargantuan man-eater was anticipating an
exchange of the void in its stomach for a
void in the place where I now stood. The
rumble trickling out of its throat deepened
as it raised one huge paw from the snow
and took a menacing step towards me.
In light of this new development in the
situation, my instincts reorganized them-
selves and fight-or-flight thankfully resur-
faced. Fighting was clearly out of the ques-
tion, as I had no surface-to-surface explo-
sives handy, so I quickly endeavoured to
break the sound barrier, gasping desperate-
ly and splashing gusts of powdery snow
with every stride. I could hear the black
guardian of our neighbour's home give
chase, and remarkably, my speed doubled.
Years later, when I was on track team in
High School, I won many a race just by
thinking of that dog.
To my horror, the monster closed the
distance between us in mere seconds and I
received a snap at my heels which tripped
me and sent me tumbling into the ditch.
Fortunately for me, and for the people who
had not yet received their papers, before I
could be treated to a guided tour of the
creature's throat, a voice called out from
Mr. Larson's house, bidding it to stop and
return. I lay there motionless as the dog
ceased its attack, then loped off back to
where it had been lying earlier. Once it was
out of sight behind the trees along the dri-
veway, I leapt to my feet and tore home.
Even though I knew the dog was no longer
chasing me, my feet were not prepared to
stop running until they had put me safely
behind locked doors.
My family was understandably con-
cerned when I appeared, sobbing with ter-
ror, clutching my newspaper bag, and
repeating, "That damn dog!" I'm afraid
that not even having a good bath, a hot sup-
per, and watching Mork and Mindy was
enough to get me to stop imagining ways to
bring about the demise of the canine horror
down the street. As I look back on the
whole incident, I realize I may have been
overreacting.
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