An Exciting Weekend

Last weekend was a particularly exciting weekend for me--one filled with a grand adventure and a strange sight.

My family was going to the beach, but I wasn't invited.  You see, I'm almost never invited on these excursions, but, honestly, that's okay with me.  Why?  Because it is really hard work keeping track of three people (you never know when someone is going to try to eat a piece of cheese without my supervision) and sometimes even a world renowned "Head of Security" needs a break.  I consider it my own private vacation.

So anyway, after I collected my bribery cookie (payment for not trying to race people out the door when they leave--yes, I have my humans very well trained) and watched my family pull out of the driveway, I scurried into the back room, jumped up on the bed, and hunkered down for a nice peaceful nap.

Ten minutes later, and before I could chase my first dream squirrel, I was awoken by the sound of the side door opening and footsteps scurrying through the kitchen.  Groggily, I opened my eyes, jumped off the bed, and wandered (cautiously) into the living room to check on the commotion.  And what did I find?  I found Sister, standing in the middle of the kitchen, with my leash and collar in hand.  "Want to go to the beach?" she asked.

Did I?  Of course I did!

Sister loaded me into the car (yay!  I didn't have to walk there) and we started down the street.  I was super excited; I paced back and forth in the backseat (because it was such a short trip, Sister didn't bother to strap me into my driving harness), I stared out the window, and I drooled excessively.  I even took some time to breathe down Sister's neck in an attempt to get her to drive faster (she didn't drive any faster, she just complained about how I was grossing her out).  Seconds later, Sister parked the car, opened my door (despite my excitement, I was a good boy and waited for her to give me the okay to get out), then jumped out of the car with an excited bound.

That was when the "good boy" in me disappeared.  At top speed, I dragged Sister back and forth down the path toward the beach, sniffing each and every reed growing up along the way.  I also sniffed the bicycle rack and a few kayaks along the way.  I was about to grab hold of a blow up swimmy someone had left behind on the beach, when I happened to look up and see a very friendly sight.

There, seated about twenty feet away were Ma and Pa.  Pulling like I had never pulled before, I sprinted toward them (Sister, to her credit, managed to hang on to my leash and remain upright on her own two feet) and, upon reaching Pa, I dragged my wet nose across his sunglasses.

Now, I had been warned early on that I wasn't going to be allowed in the water (if I got wet I would have to get a bath), but that didn't discourage me at all.  I was more than happy to wander up and down the shoreline with Ma and Sister, roll around in a patch of dried out seaweed, and eventually plop down at my family's feet while they sat watching the water.

The outing did not last particularly long (a local dog, a goldendoodle with a puppy cut, was wandering the beach without an owner and while she looked very friendly and we likely would have hit it off, my family and I were concerned about making friends without her human around), but that was okay because by the time this second cousin showed up I was already completely exhausted from all my sniffing and rolling.  So, Pa, Ma, Sister and I jumped back into the car and headed for home.  Once I was let inside the house (after a quick brushing to remove any lingering sand and seaweed from my handsome coat), I drank an entire bowl of water then settled down for a much needed nap.

A few hours later, I was hanging out in the living room working on my extended nap.  All of a sudden, I was jolted awake by Sister crying out the word "look!"  A little disoriented, I jumped up and surveyed the room.  Ma and Sister were both staring out the window so I turned to see what all the hubbub was.

There was a woman riding down the street on top of a giant black and white horse.

Needless to say, I started barking hysterically at this strange site.

Now usually, when it comes to me barking at things, I can only get in a good five or six barks before someone steps in and attempts to get me to stop (not that I do, but their interference is annoying).  No matter what is going on, I am abruptly shooed away before I can give the interloper a full piece of my mind.  Well, not this time.  Because I had never seen a horse before (let alone one casually meandering down my block), Ma and Sister allowed me to bark until I had said everything I had to say and then some.  And you know what?  It worked.  That horse didn't pass by my house again.

Freaking Out

Some dogs are heroes, able to fearlessly jump into action regardless of the situation.  Some are cowards, running away from the slightest noise.  Then there are dogs like me, who completely freak out when faced with weird situations.

Yesterday afternoon, Sister and I were hanging out in the backyard after lunch.  Sister was cleaning up the sad remains of her vegetable garden while I, rather than digging in one of the three holes I'm currently working on, was watching from the opposite side of the two foot high metal fence my family put up to keep me from helping myself to the veggies or from digging a fourth hole (I know, very insulting).  From my lookout location, I watched as Sister picked the final tomato off of the brittle remains of the final tomato plant and then rip those sad remains out of the ground by the stem.  She then turned, made her way to the fence and, with the dead plant in one hand and the tomato in the other, started stepping over it.

That was when it all went bad.  Sister's foot got caught in the fence and she fell down onto the pavement.

Now, I should mention that I was standing right next to where Sister fell, and between the scary movement of the fence and the fact that Sister could have easily crushed me had she landed only a few inches to the left (I saw my life flash before my eyes), I had no choice but to panic, make myself real low to the ground, and scurry three feet away before cautiously turning back to assess the situation.  Coincidentally, it was also during this surge of adrenaline that something in my highly evolved brain suddenly snapped.  So, with Sister wallowing on the ground, her hand bleeding and her knees and elbows scuffed, I started freaking out.

The first thing I did was grab the plastic ring (formally part of a flower pot) that had, prior to being dislodged from the root ball in the fall, been used as a barrier to protect the tomato plant from bugs.  You see, I have a long history of playing with plastic gardening pots; I steal them, I run around the backyard with them, and then I shred them all while my humans run and scream behind me.  Let me tell you, it is usually great fun.  But not this time; I was way too freaked out to focus my attention on this pastime and I only managed to scurry about five feet away before I noticed something better.

On the ground, a few inches from Sister's right hand, was the ripe tomato she had pulled from the plant only seconds before.  Now, as much as I love shredding plastic pots, I love eating way more, so I spat out the pot and scurried back to the scene of the accident.  Passing behind Sister to better my chances of success, I quickly scooped the runaway tomato into my mouth and turned to run (where I planned to scoff it down in peace).

I didn't, however, account for Sister's reflexes.  Ignoring the pain in her hand, she grabbed hold of the tomato while it was in my mouth and managed to pry the thing away from me (if I was in a better state of mind I'm sure I would have easily won this struggle).

Undeterred, I scurried away from Sister (who was still sitting in a heap on the pavement) and hotfooted it toward the shriveled up tomato plant she had thrown while going down.  "Leave it" Sister growled as I bent down to pick it up.  I did.

It was then that the pent up emotions bubbling inside of me suddenly burst out all at once and I was taken with the overwhelming need to run.  So I ran.  I ran in tight circles around the backyard.  I ran under the bushes.  I ran through the hostas.  I then ran right past Sister and, in a poorly timed attempt to put on the breaks and turn around, bounced off of the very same fence Sister had fallen over.  Startled, I did another lap of the backyard then made a bee line for my business area down the end of the driveway. After doing what I needed to do, I skidded to a halt at the side door and waited patiently for Sister, who had by now managed to lift herself up from "a puddle of [her] own blood" (her words, not mine...her hand was bleeding but only slightly), to let me in.

By the time I got inside, I was feeling much better (though a little out of breath).  I felt even better when, a few seconds later, I managed to shake Sister down for a cookie despite the fact that she was really only interested in making her way to the bathroom to clean up.  I then got a drink of water, found a nice spot on the bedroom floor, and took a nap.

Freaking out takes a lot out of a dog.