I will not ride the red rocket

At around midnight about two nights ago, when I was riding my bike through a higher-end neighborhood to go back to my friend's house. I heard a yelp. Unsure of its origins on whether it was a lady or a puppy, I dismounted my bicycle and walked through the dewy lawn toward the house. "Take it! I said take it," growled an old man. By this time I crouched behind some bushes in a backyard watching a white-haired white guy partially wearing purple silk pajamas. The yelps were not from a human lover, but of a full grown greyhound. Oh lord. This old man gave his dog his bone doggy style, then rolled on his back, still hugging his dog which was positioned belly up, exposing an obvious protruding lipstick. Before I could retreat vomit had already exited my mouth and into the bushes, startling the two lovers. "Who in the hell is over there?!" Running away from a barking dog and trying to finish vomiting is a tough act. "Get back over here!" I kept running. This is a huge property, and I'm headed toward my bike with a dog on my tracks followed by an old guy in partial pajamas, and he was catching up. "Gotcha!" I looked back. The old guy tackled his dog, and stared at me, "Don't ever think about taking this dog."
"I wasn't going to take your--"
"Shut up! Don't start! I know your kind!"
My kind?
"All you want to do is fuck my dog, and I'm not going to let that happen! You fucking asshole, don't even think about it!"
"Sir, I'm not going to fuck your dog. It's okay. I'm going to leave right now." I pedaled out of there as fast as I could.