K-9

I hate to bombard you with dog stories, readers and friends, but hey, this is my life. This is my blog. And I have two dogs. I had to write this story down to help me to process, review and understand this unsettling true event that just happened to me. Yesterday, I took my dogs for a walk. I haven’t missed a walk with my dogs since I wrote Ralphie’s Revenge, for obvious reasons. (see previous blog post)

To give you some background, let me introduce you to my dogs. We have an adolescent male Labrador retriever named Ralphie, who might as well be named “Marley.” He’s textbook lab – high energy, HIGH energy, and overwhelmingly friendly. Ralphie is NOT at all clued in, as to when people and other dogs aren’t particularly friendly or into his friendliness and boundless energy. Finally, Ralphie is certainly not aware of his own strength. We also recently adopted a beautiful, sweet eight-month-old rough collie puppy named Josie. Josie spent her formative puppy months on a remote farm. We are trying to work with her, for her to realize “Josie, you’re not in Kansas anymore.” Actually, Josie’s from Wisconsin, but it’s the same idea. I think that she thinks that suburban Florida is akin to New York City. Josie is still getting used to anything louder and stranger than crickets. The thing about collies is that they have very skinny heads and long snouts. They humor you when they wear a collar. A collar is just “for show” when it comes to collies. Josie (as did our previous collie, Lacey) has the Houdini-like ability to slide out of her collar in seconds flat, no matter how tight you think you have it on her. I think choke collars would be pointless on collies. So the other day, when an older man got a little too close to us when we were walking, while he was driving a wee bit wobbly on his bike, Josie pulled out her collar instantly and I was left with a limp leash and an invisible dog at the end of it.

So yesterday, I was peacefully walking along with our dogs and I decided to take a side street, where I don’t typically walk along. I was enjoying myself and I just wanted to shake things up a bit. I was lost deep in thought, when out of nowhere, from a big, wide side yard, bounds an enormous German Shepherd. Now, I think German Shepherds are beautiful and in the right hands, they are probably fabulous family dogs. However, I have baggage. My husband still has a scar from being bit by a German Shepherd as a kid and I, myself, was bit by a German Shepherd right on my derriere, when leaving a small country gas station. I think that the shepherd didn’t realize that I DID pay for my gas. I am not a good Alpha when it comes to dogs. If we had a German Shepherd, or a Doberman or a Pit Bull, the first time it would show its teeth, even as a puppy, I would happily hand over, to the puppy, my house keys, and my car keys. I would offer to sleep in the garage, eat kibble, and give the puppy my steak. There is a good reason why we have a lab and a collie. They fit my temperament.

Anyway, in the split second that the ginormous German Shepherd is bounding towards us, I am flashing forward in my mind, to what I thought was going to happen. Ralphie was going to go into insane, overwhelmingly annoying mode and he was going to overpower my grip on his lead and break free. Josie was going to go into Houdini mode and quickly become fast-moving prey as she ran free from her collar, the leash and the frightening scene. Some way or another, I was going to become the German Shepherd’s dinner, trying to salvage me and my dogs. So, I started screaming loudly, “Hello!!!! Help!!! Help!!! Hello!!!” to try to preempt what was bound to happen.

Well, what actually did happen was really quite different than I had imagined. And part of me thinks that the way that I imagined it happening may have been a better, and certainly, a much less embarrassing outcome.

The German Shepherd stopped right at the edge of the yard and looked at me quizzically, as I screamed maniacally. He then turned his head back and looked at a big, huge, stern looking, macho man for direction as to what he should do about the crazy lady. The man appeared from behind a large white Bronco that I then noticed had the words, “Sheriff K-9” painted on it. So, it was just another day, on the job, dealing with high-strung crazies, for this police officer and his trusty K-9 . . . .

“Really, ma’am?!? Really?!? It’s okay,” is the what the perturbed man said to me.

I was truly horrified and mortified and everything-fied.

“I’m so sorry, officer. I’m sorry. I’m not crazy,” I stammered. “My labrador can sometimes be a big pain-in-the-ass and I was just concerned that he might trigger your dog.”

“Yes, labs (he said “labs” kind of pointedly, like he was really thinking something else) CAN be a pain-in-the-ass,” is what the police officer said to me and he looked at me and kind of sighed, probably sizing up what kind of risk I was to myself, or to my dogs or to the neighborhood. He then called his smart, Chewbacca-like companion to the Bronco and I quickened my pace home.

I’m not sure what the meaning or moral of this whole event was to me, or if there really even is, any kind of meaning or moral. I’m just happy that it’s over. And I am truly grateful for our wonderful police officers and our amazing police dogs, from the bottom of my heart. They have to put up with a lot, even when they are off-duty.