TheBanyanTree: Another Dog Story

[Sally Larwood]

A great story, but I am so relieved they are both all right, particularly as Ash obviously has no road sense yet. Phew!  Now I can laugh at the picture of you playing traffic cop whilst your pup crossed the road, and picturing Honey taking her own sweet time as she sniffed the grass. That is such a dog thing to do. ;))

Sal 

Sent from my iPad 

On 06/08/2012, at 3:00, Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com> wrote:

> Again, Honey the wonder dog has failed to grasp the full import of her
> situation. She's 14. She has arthritis in her back legs. She can't hear as
> well as she used to, she can't see as well as she used to, and she tends to
> go the wrong way now and then. Her legs are wobbly at times. She's on
> anti-inflammatories and pain pills daily, which have made her feel like
> she's 10 again. But she's not 10. She's become clumsy in her old age, and
> often steps in the water bowl instead of just drinking from it.
> 
> It's hot here today, again. Yesterday was unbearable, and while other parts
> of the country do this sort of heat thing all the time, we do not. It's why
> I moved up here.
> 
> Honey and Ash went outside first thing this morning, as usual, and after
> awhile (is too a word!) Andrew went to let them in.
> 
> But there weren't any dogs to be found. He called, and usually that brings
> one of them running from around the corner, usually Ash, since Honey
> ignores us/doesn't hear us, but this time, nothing. He investigated some
> more, and he found the gate open.
> 
> The gate is never supposed to be open, obviously, because it means the dogs
> can walk out. And dogs will walk out if given the opportunity, because
> they're always up for an adventure. Even Honey, when she should be settling
> into the life of an old dog. She still plays with Ash like she's a puppy,
> but that's probably because he's irresistible.
> 
> So of course, finding no dogs and the gate open, we panic.
> 
> Andrew walks out front and starts calling for Ash, but the street is
> silent. I put on shorts, a hat, sandals, and find a leash. I go outside,
> and start looking down the street. Andrew heads to the end of the
> cul-de-sac, so I head to the cross street. I hear barking dogs on the other
> side of our street, but Andrew's checking that out, and when he finally
> comes toward me he reports that it's not our dogs causing the ruckus.
> 
> A neighbor driving away stops and asks for a description of the dogs, and
> tells me he'll let me know if he sees them.
> 
> I turn left at the cross street and start walking towards the school, a
> favorite destination for Honey in the past. But as I'm walking, our Honda,
> the old one, comes up next to me, and Andrew leans out the window to say
> he's going to check out the school.
> 
> I never thought of taking a car. That's why he's the genius of the family.
> 
> So I turn around and head in the other direction. I walk past our street
> and then turn left because that's what the road does. And then I see a
> black dog standing in a yard a few houses down, and it looks like he has an
> orange bandanna on.
> 
> What a coincidence! Ash has an orange bandanna on! Or did, last time I saw
> him.
> 
> "Ash! Get over here!"
> 
> And the crazy dog, who is nothing if not obedient, starts running towards
> me. Of course, that puts him on a collision course with any cars that
> happen to be coming around the corner, because Ash doesn't know he's
> supposed to turn a corner, not run straight across. So I stand out in the
> street to ward off any oncoming cars while Ash makes his approach. We avoid
> contact with any cars, and I put the leash on him.
> 
> "Where's your sister?" I ask him, but he just pants and looks as if he's
> the happiest dog on the planet.
> 
> So we head down the way he just came from, and then, up ahead, I see her.
> She's trotting along as if she has a specific destination in mind, as if
> she has an appointment to keep, and she is not going to be late.
> 
> "Honey!" I call, and she turns and looks at me. And this is how I can tell
> she's getting old. She starts trotting in our direction.
> 
> This is so unlike her. Her usual tactic is to turn and trot off in the
> other direction, because she'll be damned if anyone tells her what to do.
> 
> We catch up to her, and since Ash is already wearing the one leash, I tell
> her to walk with us.
> 
> Yeah, that's funny. But she does, except she goes faster than us. I'm sure
> Ash could keep up, if he weren't on the leash, but I can't. It's hot out
> and my leg has been noncooperative at the best of times. She trots out
> ahead of us, and when we get to a slight street to our left she turns left.
> I cajole her into staying right where she is while we catch up.
> 
> She invests a few moments in sniffing the vegetation, giving us time to
> catch up, and then insists on going in the direction I don't want her to
> go. So I grab her tail (so undignified, I know), have her sit, take the
> leash off Ash, and put it on her.
> 
> And the three of us head back home. There are two dogs in a fenced yard on
> our way, and Ash stops to have a confrontation with them, but then bounds
> back to my side pretty quickly.
> 
> And then Andrew and the Honda show up, once all the hard work was done. But
> at least I wasn't stuck in a car that doesn't have air conditioning. He
> couldn't take the one with air conditioning because I won't let dogs in
> that one.
> 
> Ash jumps in the car, though by now we're only three houses away from home.
> Lazy dog.
> 
> I don't take Honey's leash off until she's inside the house and incapable
> of making an escape.
> 
> And it's only after their adventure that she gets her anti-inflammatories
> and pain pills, which she'll no doubt be needing for sure.
> 
> That dog slays me.
> 
> 
> Monique Colver
> An Uncommon Friendship: a memoir of love, mental illness, and friendship
> Now available at
> Amazon<http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Monique+Colver>
> and
> at www.AnUncommonFriendship.com <http://anuncommonfriendship.com/>
> www.ColverPress.com
> monique.colver at gmail.com
> (425) 772-6218