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.