Between Herndon and Alluvial while walking Dassa this morning, I notice this guy. Red shirt. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, staring intently in my direction. He is across the street. We lock eyes. He seems a bit creepy like a character in the movie ‘Deliverance’. Banjos strumming in my head.
So, I walk a little further up the street avoiding him and the three Pit Bulls he’s trying to restrain. Still on the road nearing the sidewalk, I hear Mr. Deliverance desperately yelling, “Hey, no, no, no … sorry, no, no, no … watch out … no, no, no”. I have 10% peripheral vision. I’m legally blind, and my dog, well, if human would be a nurse. She could never join the military because should wouldn’t harm a fly. Yet, three pit bulls are charging at us. Correction, at Dassa.
The owner is frantic. Now, so am I. The first sinks her teeth into my canine’s ass. Second goes for her neck, and the third is biting into her side. I transform into a singular-minded psycho. I am not thinking of my dear grandchild, the podcast I was enjoying, or my lovely wife and children. Those sentiments were long gone. Like a camera with shuttered images my mind is processing snap shots attempting to make sense of the chaos. Crazed, I begin relentlessly punching, cursing, kicking, and flinging these beasts trying to eat one of their own.
Defending my sweet cowering friend, I’m involuntarily battling from the street, to a sidewalk, flowerbed, and into a parking lot. Every moment of every second spent falling to my knees, wrestling, trying to permanently maim these scourge. It was blurry mayhem! They’re powerful fucking dogs locked in with one thought: chomp, chomp again, and munch that brown fluffy piece of meat being protected by me, the psychopath.
Mr. Deliverance finally collared the biggest one while I bounced between the other two smashing their face with my fist over and over again, spinning, kicking, and throwing them away like a bail of hay as they repeatedly returned, charging and chomping on Dassa. Then, he took hold of the second, struggling to keep them at bay. On my bloody torn knees, my finger tips barely gripping the body harness of the third beast, not knowing where the hell Dassa had gone; hearing her pathetic whimper further fueling my rage.
“Don’t fucking let go of your dogs! Don’t let go of your dogs,” I screamed. If those butchers got loose I don’t know if I could save Dassa from being their morning delight. Mr. Deliverance was desperately trying to clip the dogs without losing his grip. With fidelity, I carefully transferred the third into his grasp while kneeling on asphalt in an industrial building parking lot.
My adrenaline was rock’n & roll’n. The pains and aches I accrued would blossom about an hour later. Dassa, remotely distant, I snag her leash and briskly head eastward toward the Old Clovis Railway path. I rubbed and pet her body while walking, feeling her coat for any punctured skin. She showed no signs of discomfort or adjusted gait. Breathing heavily, I’m so thankful! Her fur and my frantic fists & kicks saved her from being ripped and shredded.
Then, I hear, “Hey, watch out, Hey, sorry, watch out … watch out, man!” I wrench my neck to see one of the three assassins beelining towards us. We sprint to a glass doorway, noticing a car in the parking lot. I thump on the entry. No response, pinning Dassa between my ass and the glass, facing the beast, knees bent, making myself as large as possible. Like a basketball drill, I shuffled from side to side warding off this wide mouthed piece of shit. Punching, cursing, kicking again in an attempt to save man’s best friend.
Ultimately, Mr. Deliverance got him clipped, one dog still missing.
“Where’s your third dog, man? Where the fuck is he?” I asked with dread.
“He was frightened,” saying, “I think he went after a squirrel. Hey, go behind the building, over there, ok. It’ll be better. Sorry. Sorry,” as his voice trailed-off and he took-off.
Instinctively reaching to my left ear, I realize I’m missing an air pod. Damn it. Still paranoid, continuously eyeballing all around us as we made our way about a quarter mile to calm, on the Clovis Railway path. I stopped some ladies walking their sweet furry friends to give them warning, and guidance about three pit bulls. The beasts never attempted to bite me, not once, even though I did all I could to beat them to death. I felt it was likely safe for the ladies to pin their dog between themselves and a tree like I did at the glass door, so that’s the advice I gave them.
I called the Clovis Police, a force that took interest, time, and care. Also, I called my wife to pick us up so I could return to look for my air pod (which I found on the sidewalk) and ensure protection of Dassa. Waiting by a quaint canal Dassa often wades, ‘Mandy’ by Barry Manilow enters my right ear, taking me back to my youth in Bells Corners, Ottawa, Canada.
Escaping our nightmare, I drift back to my elementary years walking one mile both ways to school, daydreaming about puppy love with Mandy lyrics scrolling through my brain, “I remember all my life, raining down as cold as ice. Shadows of a man, a face through a window ….” It met me in my previous adolescent mind.
After replaying the pit bull brawl in my mind and speaking with the Clovis Police, I venture into this inner sanctum rabbit hole wondering how Mandy came to be such a sensational hit. After mending my knees and feeling severe soreness and pain throughout my abdomen and lower back, I learned that a songwriter from Brooklyn, New York, Scott English, actually wrote Brandy in 1971 later changed to Mandy by Barry Manilow. What? Why?
Well, Scott English co-wrote Brandy with Richard Kerr finishing it while in London, England. His personal piano was out of tune and the only piano he had access to was one his landlady tracked down. So, he sang Brandy while playing an ‘out-of-tune’ piano, the song eventually becoming #12 in the United Kingdom on the singles charts.
English has been described as a gifted song writer, something he had a passion to do for decades up until his death late in 2018. A funny story, many people thought Brandy was written about a dog. When asked if this is true, English said it was not. He was being asked over and over again what the song was about by a journalist so he decided to tell the reporter it was about a dog just to get rid of him. A follow up question was ‘who is your favorite movie star?’ He said Lassie 🤣.
Brandy was actually written when he was fretting about leaving his first wife who literally took him off the streets, cleaned him up, and got him on his feet. In hindsight admitting ‘my wife did kiss me and stop me from shaking’ saying he was young, likely ungrateful and bored with the marriage, eventually leaving her.
Brandy was written with himself, his first wife, and father in mind. ‘I remember all my life, raining down as cold as ice, shadows of a man, a face through a window …’ is recalling his early life and his father is the shadow of a man through a window. Pretty cool lyric which sets the tone for the song; reflecting on his youth and his father, his sense of deep respect and appreciation for his wife, yet his torment of wanting to leave her while also knowing he needs her.
Clive Davis, a new producer for Bell Records, found the record ‘Brandy’ by Scott English on his desk. He liked it. It took some convincing, but Barry Manilow agreed to sing Brandy in studio, a similar version to Scott English and also a ballad version which fit Barry best. Well, Clive was dissatisfied with the various arrangements until Barry sang it as a ballad. Clive loved it.
He changed the name from Brandy to Mandy because the band Looking Glass recently released a song titled, ‘Brandy’ ‘You’re a fine girl …’ in Spring of ’72. It reached top one in the United States, so Brandy became Mandy. Not a song about a dog. Once Manilow asked English if he liked his version. English said he didn’t like it, but the more houses it buys him the more he’ll love it. They both had a good laugh 😏.
Life’s crossroads are poetry ready to be written. They make people feel a song in their bones while enjoying its melody, instruments, lyrics, and vocals. Elton John evokes this in many of his songs appealing to people from all walks of life and political aisles. I’d say it is a reason to embrace, not repel, pain and suffering over time. Letting go of self-pity, victimhood, and anger. Recognizing life has its obstacles. Likely, this is a more natural therapy for people. Putting pain to pencil is therapeutic.
Take care, my friend 👍
