People come to Southern California to try and make their dreams come true.

We're lousy with snake oil salesmen, wanna be starlets,
hustlers and small business startups.
I'm constantly asked to act as spokesdog for everything
from energy drinks to new age bibles.
I smile and politely decline.
"My image is not to be reproduced for commercial purposes."
My attorney told me to say that.

But sometimes a product just speaks to you...

Ambling around Main Street on a lovely late summer day,
I was ambushed by a gregarious gentleman who called himself "Big Bob."
Big Bob was not what his moniker would imply.
He was a slightly built fellow with a huge smile and an unwieldy walrus mustache. My ears were almost as big as Big Bob.
But Bob had a product to sell...and a plan.

"Dog!" Big Bob yelled in a voice befitting a lumberjack, "You look like the athletic type. Do you surf, skateboard, snow ski, windsurf or water-ski?"
I told Bob yes, I did all those things.
I didn't tell him of the numerous mishaps and broken bones
that I'd been party to over the years.
Look up klutz in the dictionary and you'll find my picture.

Bob was selling a product that he assured me would revolutionize
public transport. He produced an over-sized skateboard-looking
device from a canvas bag with the same flourish that
a magician would use to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
He proceeded to explain its use of "energy compliant cantilevers" and "ergonomically integrated effort return
wheel-to-deck stabilizing mounts."
My plastic eyes started to glaze over.
Bob could sense that he was losing me.

"If you let me photograph you for my website,
I'll let you take this baby for a test drive," he said
in his best late night TV pitchman voice.
If its got wheels and it goes fast I'm interested.
Of course I agreed immediately.

Bob handed me his baby and I mugged for a few quick pictures.
Then it was time to ride.
"Want me to hold your head while you take her for a spin?" He asked innocently.

Oh Bob, you clearly haven't been around fursuiters much.

"No thanks," I said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically.
"I'm ready to go as is!"
"But, but.." Bob stammered, "How will you be able to see?"
I assured Bob that my vision, balance and reflexes were all top notch.
And they were.
They were all top notch for a beer swigging geezer wearing
size 12 paws and with two narrow circles for eyes.

Bob was having second thoughts and made a limp grab for
the board but I was off.
Slowly at first, I rolled through the crowd.
This thing was really fun.
I started to feel my oats and pointed my nose towards
the open spaces of the boardwalk.
A few kicks of the paw and I was really moving,
tail flying behind, ears flattened by the wind.
Wow, Bob was right; this thing really motors!

Icarus's wings melted.
The Hindenburg caught fire.
Bill Clinton really did have sex with that women.
Who puts a parking curb in the middle of the boardwalk?
Well, it really wasn't in the middle, but you get my point.
The board stopped with a sickening thud.
I did not stop, but the sand broke my fall.
I stumbled to my paws and surveyed the scene.
The Bob board had a rather large dent in the nose.
My nose was unscathed, but I did break a claw.
Damn.

Bob came scampering up, his face a bright red.
He looked at me, the bumpy Bob board, and the assembled
crowd of gawkers. I got set for a good butt chewing.
Turns out Bob was a salesman first and a
disciplinarian second. He began to work the crowd,
extolling the virtues of his invention and looking to me
for a "hallelujah" or a headnod at each selling point.
By the time I managed to hobble from the scene, Bob was
taking pre-orders and handing out brochures to
each prospective customer.

I don't know if Bob will become rich or if his invention will ever catch on.
My fursuit and I were undamaged and I glued
on a new claw when I got home.
In the future, I will leave extreme fursuit sports to those
more agile than this old dog.

But dang, it was a good ride while it lasted.

If anybody is looking for a spokesdog for a new line of recliners,
drop me a line.