Foot canvassing is generally done in pairs. My partner last night was a budding young labour activist who works at Steepleton General. As the afternoon progressed into evening we discovered, in our assigned poll, a few homes full of NDP voters and many more homes who were going to vote for anybody not affiliated with the Liberals among a loyal concentration of citizens who would vote for Charles Manson as long as they were sure he had never toyed with their greatest fear - socialism.
Near the end of our night we came, yet again, upon the foot canvasser's greatest fear - a big dog barking behind a door we had just knocked on. Usually the dog's owner gets ahold of his dog before he opens the door. This fucker did not. Dog came straight after me like a juiced horse out of a starting gate. Tore into my trousers but only ripped them, not my skin. Sidestepping the dog I made my way into the house's landing as my canvassing partner yelled, "Don't do it Beer!" and knocked the dog's owner down the stairs and into his basement with a twisting left kick deep into his groin before I grabbed the dog and threw it down the stairs after him.
It was just about dark anyway so we returned with our canvass sheets to headquarters where we were met by our voter contact leader. "I'm guessing it wasn't July who kicked somebody down the stairs tonight?" he asked. Baby had phoned the campaign office soon as he could reach a phone without disturbing his genitalia any more than they had already been that night.
Now I am kicked off both the NDP campaigns I was working on. Two down, five to go, motherfuckers.