for a very short time while living in detroit, i created a niche career for myself as what i guess might best be described as the urban equivalent of a sport fishing guide. ya see, i pioneered and perfected the sport of dog fishing (not to be confused with fishing for dogfish...which really isnt much of a sport at all considering the quarry; they are sorta like catching rocks).
the idea came to me while enduring a spectacularly unsuccessful muskie trip. among the tackle were some very lifelike baby squirrel lures (great for use under the boughs of a tree overhanging the kinda shallow water where the incredibly voracious muskelunge tends to lie in wait for anything smaller than itself to appear) complete with a triple set of large treble hooks. it may also have had something to do with the blinding light reflecting off the water or perhaps the hot sunlight beating down on my head. whatever it was, i lapsed into a visionary state in which my spiritguide--a really horrible dog i once owned--appeared to me. i saw him very clearly being driven insane by arrogant leftwing squirrels in our apricot tree who not only had the nerve to eat the fruit but conspired to bomb his muttly ass with the seeds. apparently they were irresponsible seed budgeters or something.
in any event, when we returned to the cass corridor, i was still pondering the vision--and glumly refusing to make the trip to the riverfront, figuring hell, if we'd done so poorly on the pristine primeivel waters of northern michigan, what point was there in dissolving perfectly good monofilament line in the irredescent. highly solvent depths of the detroit river (even tho a friend's brother had once snagged a barely living muskie off the east tip of belle isle and wound up on michigan outdoors thanks to some cops who happened to see the 'battle')?
hearing one of the area's many local transient dogs insanely yapping at his own squirrel tormentor was all it took to bring me back to myself. rather than divulge too much more, lemme just say that once we began using marlin rods, large saltwater reels spooled with 100lb test braided nylon line, 2' steel leaders, mounted a fighting chair in the back of a 1962 plymouth valiant stationwagon and spent a relatively brief amount of time learning to stealthily navigate the alleys south of the ford and east of the lodge freeways...and perfected the art of accurately presenting a squirrel lure with the maximum tantalizing realism, there wasnt a trophy class stray dog under 180 lbs we couldnt, at will, hook, land and mount on the wall of our lodge.