The Beast of Keswick Road

It's moving day. The last day I would be living in Brockton. Its halfway thru 4th grade and I am saying goodbye to my dear friend Timmy. As my parents are moving the last of the boxes into the truck I take my last bike ride down Keswick Road to see my friend Timmy for the last time.

Timmy was a fellow action figure freak! Going to his house was like  Toys R Us on crack, aliens, Star Wars and giant robots littered his room. A day at Tim's was a day of pure imagination and 

toy bliss.  getting to Tim's house was the ultimate challenge for a 4th grader.  True doom if the bike I was riding broke down. 

Abutting Tim's backyard, was the neighbor's yard. In that yard  lived the beast. A century old german shepherd who wanted nothing more to devour us. This wasn't some run of the mill mean junkyard dog. This dog was bad. Bad to the bone and very badly treated. The only thing holding this dog back was a chain bolted to it's doghouse and even that was in shambles from years of neglect. 

Every time we would ride our bikes through the path that split the yards this monster would 

lunge at us only to choke itself to the point of gagging. I always would just peddle as fast I could past this beast, fearing one day this dog would one day break it's chain and feast upon our flesh. Tim on the other hand had grown up with this animal and felt it necessary to tease and throw the occasional stick a it, making it more eager to get at us.

As we were riding back to my house after the goodbyes we passed this dog one last time. I, in front, sped passed the ravenous beast with fearful pedaling. Tim in the rear, thought it would be a gag to yell at this dog and teas it one last time. Bad idea.

Then, I heard the sound I had been fearing as long as we had been hanging out and passing this monster. The sound of the chin breaking. As soon as I heard this I went into Lance Armstrong mode. Speeding out of the path and cycled up the hill. Tim was NOT so lucky.

As I turned around, I saw the dog in mid air lunging at Tim, knocking him off his bike and pinning him to the ground. Watching in fear I watched the years of teasing and torment unleashed on my friend. Slowly, a pool of blood gathered around my friend. All I heard were screams as this beast ripped into Tim. As I watched, one of my other friends older brother turned the corner in his car. 

Seeing this, he sped up to the dog and stopped. Stepping out of his car to stop the dog, he was ubruptly charged and forced back into his car. The dog returned to my friend and resumed his attack.  

Just when I thought Tim was unconcious he made one final kick at the dogs head. It shuffled back 4 to 5 feet and gathered its wit. In an instant the older brother stepped on the gas and rammed the dog, sending it flying into the bushed. With a loud yelp and crash the dog disappeared into its yard. 

Within seconds, the brother scooped up Tim and tossed him into his car. Speeding off, most likely to the hospital. In shock, I returned home and told my mother the story. In a rush to leave my mother explained that we were about to leave and she would check on Tim when we reached our destination, Plymouth. I never learned what happened to Tim, but from that moment on til NOW I have a deep down urge to help anyone in need. 

In my darkest hour I was helpless in my friends time of need. it took years to get over what happened to Tim and to this day I wonder If he holds a deep resentment for not helping him. When I look back, I wonder why I am not deathly afraid of german shepherd, but in my heart I know it's not the breed of dog but the way it is treated. Just tell that to my 115 german shepherd Teygan who is the love of my life and the sweetest creature on the planet.

The Cylinder of Revenge!

So I'm walking down the street on my way to school on a bright sunny day. I'm still in the 4th grade living in Brockton. Suddenly, I hear tromping footsteps coming from behind...I turn...WHACK! My Bruins hat goes flying off my head and into a puddle. I look up and the neighborhood bully is staring me down with all his buddies egging him on.

Now, mind you, I may be on the lean side but I have what my Dad calls Wood Fury. My last name is Woodbury so if you can't make the connection, well, time to continue your 4th grade education.
I never start a fight but this was war. I BLEED black and gold and NOBODY mucks with my Bruins hat. Plus, this was the last in a flurry of ambushes where he never really picked a fight just teased the snot out of me and would run away.

Not this time, I knew I most likely would have gotten a few good shots in, but he was a few years older and at that age, it matters. He was just more mature and felt picking on a 4th grader in front of his friends made him cool.

So, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the first hard object I could find. Remember those cylinder rubick's cubes they used to make? Shaped like a grenade?

Primitive rage flowed through my nervous system. My enemy standing laughing about the same distance as a batter to a pitcher. This fool doesn't know I was a pitcher for little league either! With Dice-K like accuracy I snatched it out and whipped it straight at my enemy!

As I watched this cylinder of revenge make its way towards my enemy I smile and watch as the object crashes into his temple splitting the side of his head wide open and fragmenting into pieces of debris that looked like the destruction of the Death Star!

Blood and screams and running commenced. Proud as I was that I hit the mark, the abnormal amount of blood sickened and me and I decided to return home and tell my mother what had happened.

I never saw him again.

What I learned from this experience was If you have a chance to learn something, learn it. If I never got into pitching I would never had been able to smash his face in and most likely would have been picked on for years to come. What ever happened to those cylinders anyways?

The Hive Part Two

"Be careful, and keep and eye on where you are riding, it's a big place out there."

I turned got on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could back. I remembered the stump the puddles, then I got to a split and I hesitated before turning. In that split second, I looked up and what did I see, the bird house. I quickly blasted through the briars and ran up to the front door of his house. 

Screaming, (name here) IS GETTING STUNG!  The father and brother stormed out of the house and ran up the path yelling for the son...the mother comes out with water, frantic, wanting to run in to her son. I explained what happened and just as she was about to cry, they came running out with a few bees still intact on all of them. Carrying my friend. The rest was a blur,  cars skidding out and the bike ride home, not until I got home and explained to my Mom what happened.

About an hour later, the phone rings, He is ok. I don't remember the exact number of times he got stung, but the "oh, dear god" and the fact I don't remember seeing him the rest of the summer, I'd guess it was buttload!

I didn't have to explain how I got out. I would have anyways, but that one sentence and seeing the bird house at almost the same time stuck with me. Signs are everywhere If you look. It could be as simple of a bird house or the wisdom of your mother. I saved his life, and he wouldn't be the first.

The Hive Part One

I grew up in Brockton, Ma prior to moving to Plymouth. I hated it. My parents did good though. We had a nice house and a monster yard but I was an artist and musician early on no one in the area was inclined to play how I wanted to play. Yeah, I played sports and can still skate with the best of em. I bleed black and gold If you must know. In the back of the neighborhood it was farmland. Not so much now, but in the 70's it was vast.

There was one kid who played sax and was into comic books that I friended during school.  Turns out he lived next to a big wild grass field with all these cool jumps the older kids would hi.  It was a nice hot, august day and this kid calls. I don't remember how he got the number, whatever, it's moot,  anyways, he calls. 

"Come on over"! Let's go ride our bikes in the field! Hell yeah! I get on my bike and before I take off my Mom, says "Be careful, and keep and eye on where your riding, it's a big place out there. "

Yeah, yeah whatever! I bail. 20 minutes later, I show up at this kid's house. He is already primed on his bike ready to hit the trails! I take a quick peak for landmarks. Even back then I remember being aware of things. I scan and notice a bird house way up on the oak tree next to the entrance. The mouth of he entrance was covered in briars 7 feet high and only split in the middle just big enough for someone to ride a bike through. 

We enter. My new friend takes the lead. We zip in and out of the paths, dodging tree trunks and puddles. After about 10 minutes, I slow down a bit. This kid rode all the time. I wasn't used to the pace but I didn't want to look like a wuss so I took a breath and tried to catch up...

It wasn't seconds untl I hear this scream. A scream that still resides deep in me If I think about that day. I turned the corner and something out of a horror movie appears in front of me. Seems my new friend has skidded off the path and wiped out...right into a mud face wasp nest. The nastiest of the nasties. Bad, bad, bad. He is being swarmed running around swatting the air. I froze. I've been stung before but I've NEVER seen anything like this. As my best bud Jason can attest, bees will f@#$ you up!

Then, clarity. What did Mom say?

Let Us Begin...

Once in awhile you you come to a point in life where you sit back and say to yourself, man, that time in Vermont, when Tommy was in-lining down Church street wasted, playing chicken with moving cars during a northeaster? Skating as fast as he could straight towards oncoming traffic and at the last possible mili-second he would contort his body and throw himself to the ground only to get up and do it again! Straight onto cars, trucks at least 7 times! That was frikkin' HILARIOUS! Now, think of seeing cracked out performances night in and night out. These actors in these stories are some of my closest friends in the world. Most of them I have known since 4th grade and others, like the poem, come into life and made a footprint in my life.

With these tales, I shall explain the lesson I learned from these memory searing comedy acts and numbingly moronic performances witnessed by me or my brothers and sisters.

Some may have funnier stories, but I am not in contest with those. These are MY stories or stories of super close friends  that were willingly or sometimes unwillingly witnessed over these last 20 years.  Anyone who remembers something, feel free to drop me a note! My memory is a little foggy!

 

Who knows, maybe this will be read by millions and spurn me in another 20 years to continue.

I will NOT use actual names, but instead I shall take ALL of their names and scramble them with different stories so no one will make an issue of these tales.

God, my parents are gonna kill me...ready?