>Writing stories about the real world means dealing with real stuff. For example, I arrived this afternoon and learned that the subjects for my interview didn’t expect me till next week. Plus the wife was heading off to the chiropractor. Man, here I am with this terrible cold for nothing, I thought. But I interviewed the husband and it turned out he was the real story anyway. The dude was declared dead not once but twice after a motorcycle accident. He was at the funeral parlor about to be embalmed when he suddenly sat up and said his arm hurt. Scared the bodily fluids right out of the funeral parlor guy. Then at the hospital, he went into a coma, had no heartbeat for so long they declared him dead again, but he survived–with major brain damage. Months of rehab followed, and now here he is in Oregon calling himself “the dog whisperer.”

My cold made it hard to breathe, especially since I was sharing the couch with two cats and I’m allergic to cats, but I got the story.

Then we went out to take pictures of Dan with his gigantic English mastiffs. The small one weighs 175 pounds, the bigger one over 200 and they’re still growing. They were very friendly and, how shall I say it, juicy. Remember the dog from Turner and Hooch that was always drooling? Yep, before I knew it my black slacks were covered with dog goobers and I was sprinkled pretty much all over with mud. They sure were friendly, but it’s scary when the dogs are bigger than you are. Dan got hold of one with each hand, I shot my pictures, and got back on the dry side of the fence ASAP. The things you gotta do for a story.

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