I must have had a few run-ins with dogs in 1983, because I was leery of dogs I didn't know. And I was really leery of Holly.
I'd called this woman who raced motocross in South Carolina and was going to interview her for the local newspaper. But when I pulled my Ford Pinto up to her house, I was looking up at a big, black dog that was all legs and ears. Even standing with all four feet on the ground, the dog's Batman-like ears rose just above the top of the car window!
I opened the window a crack and yelled to the woman. She yelled back that Holly was friendly. I replied that I wasn't getting out of the car until the dog was moved.
So Holly was banished into the house.
We talked on the patio and then went out and checked out her bike. When I lay down on the driveway to get a closeup photo of her working on my bike, I realized I was being attacked!
Actually, I wasn't; Holly was out, and she had me on my back, licking my beard.
We went in the house, and the woman put a bowl of dog food down, and she explained that Holly was a four-and-a-half-month-old Great Dane/lab mix who weighed 147 pounds. I didn't argue with the math; she was big and beautiful. And, as it turned out, she was also quite sweet.
As the interview continued, Holly would take a bite, and she'd chew as she watched us talk. Back and forth, her head went; she was like a spectator watching a really slow tennis match.
When we were done, Holly and the lady accompanied me outside. The woman waved from her doorstep; Holly walked me to the car. I got in, rolled the window down and scratched her muzzle. I wasn't afraid at that point; this big girl had reminded me that I was at heart a dog lover.
And I've always loved the name Holly.
(NOTE: I met my wife Holly two years after I met the four-legged Holly.)
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