Fear that years from now, corrosion will separate a steel rim at speed and so I will perish. The crash detective will look over the wreckage, "Poor bastard. Dog piss did him in."
They're on mine before it even stops rolling, all three dogs descending upon it. Sometimes attacking from three sides, sometimes lining up all polite-like to take turns at one wheel. Even the female lifts her leg.
Maybe it's the dog version of a message in a bottle.
