© 2008 denise

Park Adventures

The Girl and I hit the park yesterday, as our evening walk in the mild weather is my only form of exercise (unless you count frantic typing, balancing a child on my lap while trying to work, and rushing to Staples 10 minutes before a presentation as “exercise”). It was nice, nice people, nice dogs, good times.

On our way back home is where it got interesting. I ran into my neighbor Erin down the street with her very active 5 year old Cameron and her new baby Carson. Carson was due about a week after Reese, but phyiscally you’d look at him and think he was a month and half ahead of her in size. We were chatting and strolling back to our respective houses, pretty oblivious to the surroundings save for Erin’s sharp eye for Cameron’s wanderings. What could go wrong, right?

Ronin started to thrash around, he actually threw his head back and wrenched himself free of his collar. This is the part of the story where I literally fall over dead from the terror of seeing my dog and his COLLARLESS NECK go running down the street away from me.

The sight of a dog trotting down a street might not strike fear into the hearts of other dog owners, but other typical dog owners didn’t adopt a dog that is known for its high prey drive, love for running, and no road sense whatsoever. Also, I’d wager other typical dog owners didn’t sign up for a dog that can reach up to 45 miles per hour in 3 strides.

So here I am, in the middle of Olentangy Blvd with one hand on the stroller, and one hand holding a dogless leash. My greyhound is moving very quickly away from us, about as scared-looking as I have ever seen him. I glance behind me and it all makes sense.

The black lab that attacked Ronin last summer, the one who CHOMPED Ronin by the neck and pinned him to the ground! was Right. Behind. Us.

Every step closer that dog came, Ronin would move farther and farther away from us.

Oh. SHIT.

Fortuntately, Erin grabbed Reese’s stroller and said “I’ve got your baby, now go get your dog!” and I take off down the street after him. Ronin seemed even more alarmed that I’m coming after him, so he kicks if up a notch and trots faster.

RONIN! COME!

He stops, turns and looks at me. In my head I’m thanking God for that a little bit of “recall” training seems to have worked with him, even in the smallest measure.

I hold out the leash toward him, beckoning. Out the corner of my eye, I see that wretched black dog turn down a sides street away from us. Ronin watches them too, as he begins to calm immediately.

I jingle the collar. He cannot resist the tinkling of metal on metal, it’s our signal in the house that it’s time for a walk or a car ride. Ears perked, he turns around and damn near prances back over to my side where I wrapped my arm around his chest and slide the collar and leash over his head.

As soon as I get back to the house, I so had to change my pants.

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