Rolando: No Man (Or Woman) Left Behind

August 19th, 2017

We had just finished hiking up a mountain, and were feeling pretty good about ourselves.

We had spent about an hour on the mountain’s peak, taking in the breath-taking views, drinking the celebratory bottle of wine we brought along and generally feeling good about the day’s accomplishments.

After, the group of us, which included a close friend and his girlfriend, began to make the hike back down the mountain.

Fifteen minutes into our descent, we ran into a couple of hikers who were making their way up the mountain.

We exchanged a few words and wished each other well and continued on our way.

We got about hundred feet away from them when one of the hikers called out to us from up the trail: “At the fork in the road at the end of the trail, take a right. The left side has a bunch of houses with crazy dogs.”

“Thanks,” I yelled back as we continued on our way.

We kept on and a couple hours later, we reached the fork in the road. The hiker had said to take the right, but it was more of the same, rocky trail that continued to wind down the mountain. The left side was a paved road lined by very large, expensive-looking houses.

“I say we go left, guys,” I said. “We’ve been hiking half the day on this mountain and still have another hour to go. A paved road will be a lot easier on the body.”

“What about the dogs?” my friend’s girlfriend asked. “The guy said go right.”

“Look at those huge-ass houses. There aren’t going to be any rabid dogs roaming around on the road trying to eat us,” I said. “I’m tired, let’s go left.”

We were all tired, so nobody put up much of a fight.

We made our way down the paved road and past the houses. Some of them had locked steel gates with dogs behind them.

The dogs barked as we passed by, it was a little nerve wrecking at first, but we didn’t seem to be in any real danger.

“You see,” I said, confident that the hiker who warned us had overreacted. “The dogs are locked up and are probably used to protect the houses from burglars.”

We kept on down the road. The dogs kept barking, but none of them posed a threat. After 30 minutes of this, we became fairly confident that we weren’t going to be killed by crazy dogs.

We got about 20 minutes away from the end of our hike when we came across a house with this janky-looking gate that had this huge German Shepard. The damn thing was going ape shit. I mean, really trying to get at us.

He kept slamming against the gate. It was loosely held together by a chain that allowed his head to stick out between the gates all the way to his neck, as he tried to get free.

All the confidence we had built up over our last 40 minutes of hiking drained from our bodies.

“Shit, bro,” my friend said as he moved away from the dog to the far-side of the road, dragging his girlfriend with him. “That dog is trying to get at us like he hasn’t had anything to eat in a long time.”

“Man that’s a damn beast of a dog,” I said. “Let’s get the hell out of here before that fucker gets free.”

We moved ahead, my friend and his girlfriend trailing just behind me, when all of a sudden, the prankster in me struck.

I looked back at my friend and his girlfriend, they looked terrified as the dog continued to slam against the gate, but they kept moving, not turning to look at the dog, but choosing to move as quickly as possible away from the thing.

I waited for the dog to slam against the gate again and then I turned and screamed: “Oh shit the fucking dog is loose. Run!”

I turned and started sprinting down the road while screaming: “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That fucker is coming.”

After about 30 feet, I stopped and turned to see if it had worked.

And damn did it work. Both my friend and his girlfriend were sprinting down the road with looks of complete horror on their faces. I’m talking, ‘Oh my god I’m going to die’ looks.

But that wasn’t the best part. The best part was the move my friend pulled on his girlfriend.

They were side-by-side for most of the sprint, until my friend pulled what is called a swim move.

It’s a move defensive lineman use to get past an offensive lineman.

In a swooping motion, he swung his right hand across her chest and swept her back, creating about two feet of separation between them, and kept on running.

It wasn’t until he ran past me that he realized what was going on.

“You motha fucka,” he screamed as he struggled to catch his breath. “You think that’s funny?”

“What, man?” I said, doubled over with laughter. “It was just a joke. Nothing bad happened.”

“You’re an asshole,” he said as a slight grin appeared on his face, which promptly disappeared when his girlfriend caught up.

“I can’t believe you,” she roared. “You pushed me behind so you could get away.”

“Babe, but the dog wasn’t even chasing us. Rolando was just fucking around.”

“You didn’t know that until after you left me behind for dog bait….”

They argued the rest of the way down the mountain.

It was a bit of a dick move, I admit that, but it was funny as hell.

And they ended up getting over it, anyway.

So it all ended well.

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