Blogging seems so inviting, so personal, so “possible”. And then you end up writing puppy stories because someone else needs to know they are not alone in being completely humiliated.
Powerful rain storms came through last night. Not just once or twice, but at least three times. Water poured from thundering skies, then clouds almost let the sun fight through. Between storm inning one and two, the dog needed to go potty. There are two leashes I hook together to give him more room. I hooked both leashes and Scotty trotted down the steps ten feet away. One leash was attached to him, and the other was in my hand, still at the top of the steps. I froze. He froze.
Would he realize he was free?
Is water wet?
He looked at me and got a gleam in his little brown eye. He turned and dashed away towards the busy road in front of our home.
No way, lady. That training tip has sailed.
The neighbors, if they were looking at the Scotty and Sharon circus, saw a little brown dachshund gleefully running up the rushing flow of water on the far side of the road. I’ve never been a graceful runner and this occasion was no exception. I had on flip flops so I sort of skip trotted awkwardly and furiously trying to follow Scotty dashing over the road and back again.
“Oh God, please, no semi trucks right now.”
A semi truck was coming around the bend.
By now Tom was also watching the show. He grabbed his car keys ready to take off if he needed to follow the puppy. I was thinking about shock collars.
The truck driver kindly slowed down and stopped. Tom was talking to him. Scotty ran towards him, and back, and in circles. What to do, Sharon, what to do…
Have you heard that dogs will sometimes come to their owners if they lay down like they’re hurt? Anyone? Well I read it somewhere. Probably on some blog post. That’s my story and I am seriously sticking to it. Once, another dog we had came running back to me when I laid down and acted hurt. What did I have to lose besides my dignity? I quickly laid down on my back in the wet yard. Scotty pranced four feet out of my reach. Tom and the truck driver stared. Probably the entire valley and the people in houses on the surrounding hills stared. After about five seconds of looking from me to the semi truck, Scotty grinned at me and ran away again. I jumped up like the athlete that I was thirty years ago. In my mind anyways. Tom later told me he was horrified. All I could muster was, “Well if it worked, and I had caught Scotty by laying down and acting hurt, I would have looked like a genius.” Perhaps some other day in some other valley.
The truck driver, who happened to know Tom and possibly, in my mind’s eye now, about a million people we know, slowly moved his rig past me and the still-dodging dachshund. I avoided making eye contact and waived a meek thank you. The driver was busy programming his GPS to take him anywhere but on this road ever again.
Scotty ran circles close enough for me to finally step on his leash. The circus stopped, we went inside, and I served myself a big fat piece of delicious humble pie.
There is no moral to this story, no verse, no life application, just a silly dachshund puppy story. And I hope it made you smile in relief that it was not YOUR story!