A true story about the dog my father had
when he was a boy. Also a flat fable:
LONZO
Everyone knew that
chasing cars would be the end of that bulldog, but he never learned. He would
hear the motor and the rubber tread and run at the street until he hit that
passing blur, catching as much as he could in his teeth. Finally it happened,
bit to a whitewall, taken round whirling three or four times until the car
stopped and he was flat enough to fold. 
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