I really shouldn't even write this post. And the only reason why I am doing this is because the person who owns the dog I'm going to tell you about doesn't read this blog. I think she doesn't read it. If she does, then I am very, very sorry.
So my friend called and asked me if I could:
a) come over and let her dog out of the kennel (Jack Russel Terrier--there's a huge possibility I just made this kind of dog up, but I think that's what she said--and if that statement doesn't tell you how much I don't know about dogs, nothing will.)
b) Take the dog into the backyard so that it can do it's business
c) Put the dog back in the kennel.
Oh--and her dog will probably be really excited to see me.
So I asked her, "When the dog is done with it's business, do I just open the kennel door and it'll go back inside?" There was a long pause after I said this, while she probably (rightfully) second guessed asking me to help, and she told me that I'd have to pick the dog up and put it in the kennel.
Pick the dog up??? I kind of had an freak out moment on the inside, but I'd already said I'd do it, and I am a committer almost to a fault, so I told her it'd go great, and to go out of town, no worries.
Then I spent the rest of the afternoon convincing myself that I was a dog person (despite my past of disliking/being deathly afraid of dogs.) My friend Kathy has a five year old chocolate lab that we go on walks with every day. I love that dog. Never mind that when I water her plants when she goes out of town, I have to pep talk myself into going into her house and always call out to the dog first thing so that she doesn't attack me (she's never attacked a person in her life, and she loves me, but I still get freaked). And my friend Dee has an adorable little Yorkie that I hold and even let lick in the air in front of my face (not quite there for face licking just in case she turns crazy and bites my lips off). So I am a dog person, in some select instances.
4pm rolled around and I loaded my kids in the car to drive them around the corner (it was too hot to walk) and I went into the house where the dog was going crazy jumping everywhere and yapping. I gave it the treat--which it rejected--and got it out and slapped the leash on it really quick.
I took it out front yard...but it would not go to the bathroom.
So I took it in the backyard...but it would not go to the bathroom.
I thought the leash might be killing it's mojo, so I took the leash off and went inside. But the dog followed me inside, darted past me, and ran through the front door that I had (stupidly) left open. So I was standing there with this stupid empty leash, kind of shocked, watching this dog that is like my friend's child, run away. And here's the thing--in case you hadn't noticed yet--I don't know the dog's name, I don't know the gender, and I'm kind of hazy of what kind of dog it is in the first place. So I didn't know what to call out to get the dog to come back.
I ran out front in a smidge of a panic, and started yelling, "Here, dog! Here, dog!" and patting my legs to get it to come. It came running and me full force, so I turned and ran back in the house, and it started jumping all over me and tasting my legs, and scratching me all up--and only people who are afraid of dogs can understand how much this kind of thing can freak a person out. So I pushed it into the backyard while I took a moment to get my panicked breathing back to normal.
At this point, I didn't even care if it went to the bathroom or not. I needed to get out of there. I was all alone with this dog, and I was getting frustrated, and kind of wanting to cry (because that's my emotion overload default response), so I opened the back door and the dog came running back in. I opened the kennel door and told it to get in, but it wouldn't.
And here's the other thing, I was afraid of raising my voice, because I worried that it would be like an invitation to attack, so I was talking to the dog like you'd talk to a six month old baby--all high pitched and happy and smiley, but I was saying, "Get in your crate you stupid dog. I kind of hate you right now. Get in before I scream." And it kept opening it's mouth all the way, showing me all it's teeth, and it kind of reminded me of my trip to Louisiana and all of the alligators. So I steeled my courage, grabbed the collar, and dragged it into the kennel.
And it escaped before I could shut the door.
So I had to grab it again (and now it thinks we're playing all rough or something and it trying to gnaw on my arm) and I drag it back to the kennel, slam the door shut, tell it goodbye (in my nice voice) and leave. My hands were shaking when I got to the car.
Does anyone else have delusions about their abilities sometimes?
This is a common theme in my life. Somehow I convince myself that I can do things--even when prior experience has told me that I can't. I guess I'm the hopeless optimist (I have to be to keep sending out query letters, but that is another story.)