It was a full to capacity day at Disneyland, the biggest crowd since the Bi-Centennial celebration. The horde of vacationists was flowing thick, shoulder to shoulder, heel to toe, like a slow, fat, sticky river you can’t escape. I was making my way out of Bear Country with family, including a ten-year-old nephew I’ll call “Rambunk.” He was like a compressed and rambunctious Rambo.
As the assemblage swarmed like bees packed in an overflowing hive, the Disney character, “Pluto The Dog” suddenly appeared out of the mob. His costume featured a long red tongue dangling a foot or more from his open mouth.
I could see the confrontation shaping up. Rambunk faced off with the unsuspecting Pluto; ‘Bunks arms out from his sides as if posturing for a close-range quick draw shoot-out. His determined little eyes were focused on the bright red target. Bam-Bam! Rambunk shot up one hand and the other snagging poor Pluto’s tongue.
Pluto’s head jerked back as if he had a fish on and he was setting the hook! He raised his paws to his head (to keep it attached) and reeled back in automatic survival mode and began to spin – pulling Rambunk (still gripping the tongue) off the ground and into orbit.
It happened so fast, I couldn’t raise my ready camera to my face before Grandma intercepted the airborne boy, and everyone was again swallowed up by the multitude.