Dog Gone

I hear the humans say “walk” in low voices they think I can’t hear. But dogs can hear things four times farther away than humans. Shouldn’t they realize that by now? They also think I don’t know what “W” means, which is their code for “walk.” I know perfectly well what it means, but I pretend I don’t. It’s better to keep them in the dark. If they knew how much I understand, they’d freak out.

So, it appears we’re going for a “W.” Even if I don’t hear the word I can tell because Mom puts on the special sneakers she keeps by the back door. I can also tell when she’s going out in the car because she puts her purse on the kitchen table. That’s my signal to go into my kennel and look pitiful so she’ll give me a treat before she leaves.

The other night she and Dad were going out to dinner, so she stuck her head out the back door and shook the treats can and called my name: “Sadie!” She yelled it about ten times but I didn’t come. That’s because I was already in the kennel, LOL. She said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were already inside? Like maybe a ‘woof’”?

As usual, I played dumb. It’s not like I have much control over anything around here, so I take it when I can get it.

Today, we’re going on a short walk to the cemetery up the road. A couple months ago I twisted my back knee chasing a chipmunk, so I’m not supposed to walk that far yet. My knee feels fine now, but like I said, I don’t have much control over things. So I go for short walks.

A few years ago I hurt my other back knee running down the deck stairs after a squirrel. Mom was into yoga back then, and one of her woo-woo friends gave her the number of a pet psychic. The psychic looked at a picture of me and said I’d hurt my leg running down the stairs. She got that right. But then she said to take me to the vet. Wrong! Luckily, I got better on my own.

Today we head out the back door, where Dad puts me in my harness. I’m excited, so I keep walking while he tries to get my front legs through. Yesterday, Mom missed one leg and it felt funny, but we took the whole walk that way. I suppose I could stand still when they hook me up, but that would be too easy. I figure they need a challenge.

I hope you don’t get the wrong idea. I’m a good dog. Well, mostly. The worst thing I ever did was run away when I was a teenager. After that, I got the harness instead of just a leash.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and Dad was out playing golf. Mom took me for a walk and when we got to the end of the road, I spotted a deer across from the swampy area where the frogs live. I yelped and flew into action, yanking the leash so hard it wrenched out of Mom’s hand. Then I took off through the muck, leaving Mom swearing and calling my name. I ignored her. By the time I got to the place where I first saw the deer, it was running across the road. So I followed it.

If you’re thinking, “Stupid move,” you’d be right. It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But something just comes over me when I see a deer. My wild instincts take over, and even though I know deep down I’ll never catch the deer, I have to run after it. Come to think of it, I’ve never actually caught anything I’ve run after. Not like the dog before me, the one they call “Aunt Domino,” who apparently caught everything she ran after. I’m sick of hearing about her.

Anyway, I made it across the road without getting flattened by a car, but the deer was running fast and disappeared into the woods. I galloped after it, but when I got through the trees, it was nowhere to be seen. Well, shit, I thought. I put my nose to the ground and zigzagged through the brush, trying to pick up the scent. I don’t know how long I sniffed and searched—I lost track of time. Finally, I gave up and decided to go back home. My stomach told me it was way past dinner time.

Except I didn’t know where I was. All the trees looked the same. Calm down, Sadie, I told myself. Just follow your nose and you’ll find your way home. So that’s what I did. I put my head to the ground and trotted through the woods until—ack! Something choked me and I couldn’t move.

And that’s when I realized the joke was on me. I was still dragging my leash and it was wrapped around something. I was stuck.

To make a long story short, it took me two days to chew that leash in two. Actually, I’m embarrassed to say it took me a whole day to figure out that’s what I needed to do. The first night, it rained cats and dogs (haha), along with thunder and lightning. I cried, thinking of my warm, dry kennel. I knew Mom and Dad were worried sick and I felt guilty. (I learned later they’d hung “Lost Dog” pictures of me all over the area.) By the time I chewed through the leash, I was dry again, but my stomach was growling and my tongue was parched. I’d had a lot of time to think about what I’d done and where I was, so once I got free, I sniffed the air and before I knew it, I was back on the familiar road leading to home.

My humans couldn’t believe it. They hugged me so much I couldn’t breathe. Then they bought me the harness.

Anyway, I’m harnessed up now and going for a short walk to the cemetery. Nose to the dirt, I check my messages. Yup, that stuck-up Welsh corgi was here by the stump. And I detect the smell of that black lab over by the fence, the one that keeps sniffing my butt. Gotta pee on that spot.

Life is good.

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