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Stupid Dog

April 20, 2011

My dog is stupid. She has a new stupid thing. She runs away. She slips out the front door and BAM freedom.

She doesn’t come when she is called.

We’ve always been able to catch up with her and drag her home by the collar — so far. But she is a rescue because my friend’s friend’s babysitter found her on the street — clearly the running away habit predates her home with us. Now she has a microchip and a collar with her name on it, but still, I worry. She looks ferocious, even if she isn’t (much) and I think only the most dedicated dog lover would tackle her and bring her home if she were found wandering.

She got away yesterday. I chased her down and tackled her, in the mud, and then I put the fear of all things undogly into her by yelling at her by the front door, so now she skulks away when we approach the door. I turned on the sprinklers and showed her the front yard, wet,  but I could see the (small) gears of her mind turning (slowly) trying to figure out the best way to dodge the sprinklers and get away.

My friend was over for lunch today. Her contribution to the ongoing game of “guess the parentage” was to say that my dog is half wolf and half greyhound, two species known for roaming. I believe it.

If she gets lost I’m going to be crushed.

Stupid dog, playing fast and loose with my heart.

From → Dog

  1. Abigail Carlton permalink

    Oh yea gods and little fishes. That’s a constant ongoing terror of mine. I have chased my dog down the street, shoeless and swearing more than once. More than once I drove around with a toddler strapped in the car, half naked, yelling out the car window. Upon reflection it’s no wonder my neighbors don’t like me. And now the damn cat is try to edge out the door. And we have foxes.

    Poopid Cat.

  2. Aunt Lee permalink

    Seaver used to jump over shopping bags, legs stuck out, whatever obstruction THE INSTANT THE FRONT DOOR OPENED. For awhile, I thought the rest of my life would be accompanied in every instant by Seaver. Tried all kinds of disciplining. Failed.

    Then one day I cornered him, hooked on his leash, led him directly indoors and into the bathroom, where I looped the leash over one of the tub handles, closed the bathroom door, and left, slamming the front door loudly. Was out for an hour.

    Magic! He got it right away. He tried a couple of times now and again in case I’d forgotten. I hadn’t. And thereafter? Who’s a good boy? Who’s my Seaver? You’re such a good Seaver, Fuzzy Wuzzy, Pooperman.

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