“Oh shit,” Lula said. And Lula started running for the car, knees up, arms pumping.
I was two steps in front of her, running for all I was worth. I could hear the dogs round the corner. I turned to look, and I saw them galloping after us, eyes wild, mouths open, tongues and ears catching wind. They w ere closing ground fast, the biggest of them in the lead.
Lula let out a shriek. “Lord help me!”
I guess the Lord was listening because they ran past Lula and took me down. The first dog hit me square in the back, sending me to my knees. Not a good position to be in when you’re attacked by a pack of humpers. I tried to regain my footing, but the dogs were on me, and I couldn’t get up. I had humpers on both legs, and a bulldog that looked like Winston Churchill humping my head.
There was a humpers on a humper.
“Keep going. Save yourself!” I yelled to Lula. “Tell my mother I love her.”
“Get up!” Lula yelled at me. “You gotta get up! Those dogs’ll hump you to death.”
She was right. The pack was vicious. It was a humping frenzy.
Dogs in inferior humping positions were snarling and nipping, jockeying for better locations. The leg humpers held tight, grimly determined to finish the job, but the head humper kept losing his grip. The head humper was drooling and panting hot dog breath in my face. He’d hump some and slide off, and then he’d come scrambling back, trying to hump again.
“I can’t get up!” I said. I’ve got seven humping dogs on me. Seven. “Do something!”
Lula was running around, hands in the air. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”
“Get the dog off my head,” I yelled. “I don’t care about the leg humpers. Just get the dog off my head!”
“Maybe you should let them have their way with you,” Lula said. “They’ll go away as soon as they’re done That’s the way it is with male humping.”
“Maybe you should goddamn grab this horny humping bulldog and get him the hell off my freaking head!”