The time the team met the flying guy that was the color of dust.

When I walked the dogs in the evening, this weathered, faded guy was shuffling through his van and having a smoke. He had on shorts and a t-shirt, and everything about him was the color of dust. He had a leathery face, mostly hidden under a ballcap and shaggy, dusty hair. He glances up at me and the dogs, and for a moment we locked eyes, then he glances over his shoulder, slams the van shut, then does this amazing flying backwards leap across the sidewalk and into a gravel front yard, intercepting a rocket launched bulldog.

I am not kidding. Was like the smoothest football move, like he backwards tackled a cannonball.

She was a real little tank of a dog and looked like she very much wanted to be free now from his dusty grip and headfirst pummel into my dogs. I can't read bulldog face very well, and they all make that growly gurgling sound. They have no sinuses or something, that smashed in face problem. The guy was laying there, panting, with the headlocked bulldog snorfling unpleasantly. Equally impressive was that his cigarette was still dangling from his lips.

He goes, "She's really friendly."

He had a gravely, pack a day, voice.

I'm all, "Super! She looks sweet."

I had stopped walking, it just seemed polite, since he had made such an amazing catch. Olympic level. I will admit, right now, I told a lie. She didn't look sweet to me. But it just seemed like the right thing to say.

"She's a really good dog." He sort of straightened up, and held on to her by a rope that clamped on to her harness. Her harness was faded and old and partially made of baling twine.

"That was an awesome catch."

He's all, "Yeah, I'm really good at that."

He really was.

He sits down on a cinder block wall and asked her if she wanted to go to parkies or beachie. She made some weird snorting noises. And then off they went.