I'm not sure exactly what I did or what I wrote about before a dog entered this household. It has been several years since there was a four legged critter in the house. When that much time passes, we tend to forget certain things.
It's rather like when our children grow up and leave the nest. We begin to do things that we used to do, before children. We begin to bring things into the house, or decorate with items that do not have to be worried about getting broken. When there are no longer balls bouncing, or cheerleading squads practicing in the front room, it is then safe to bring out the fine china. This change in life must be the reason that new parents do not think their own parents have a clue about raising children.
Having a new puppy is much like having a small child in the house. There are toys strung hither and yon, feeding schedules and bed time. Then there are the things that we take for granted, things that we forgot. Things that no longer bother us, but might bother someone else, or some small animal.
Take for instance a siren. Our community's high school basketball team had won their regional competition. When this happened, the team was escorted through the town by the local fire department. A full blown escort, lights, sirens, the whole nine yards. My husband and I were informed that the procession was going to come by our house. We donned our coats, put the dog on his leash and headed out to the front porch.
We had not been out there too long before we could hear them approaching. The fire engine was followed by the school bus full of team members and cheerleaders and the bus was followed by several cars. The sirens, flashing lights, screaming kids and honking cars turned out to be stimulation/information overload for the dog. Poor Runtly was scared to death. Now, whenever there is a siren sounding in a television show, he needs to find a safe place to hide.
Runtly has been bored being in the house. The weather has been unseasonably cold for this time of year and since I have been plagued with a few joint issues, I don't like to go out either. I decided to let him out on the back deck for a while, just to get some fresh air. Even Tigger, the cat, had already retreated to the garage because of the arctic blast, so I did not plan to leave Runtly out too long. I attached his lease, opened the door and hooked the end of the leash on a hook on one of the deck posts. The leash is one of the retractable varieties and I made sure the button was in the unlocked position. Runtly seemed to enjoy this new found freedom, albeit short freedom, and cocked his head to one side, listening to a barking dog a block away.
I came back into the house and set about to do some paperwork at my desk. I had not been in the office two minutes when all matters of the gates of hell broke loose. I could hear a horrible clanking noise and then I could hear Runtly. He was yelping, non stop, almost like a scream.
As I bounded for the backdoor I discovered that when in, or sensing, danger, joint problems become obsolete. Perhaps I should be scared more often. Anyway, as I'm racing through the kitchen, listening to the yelps getting louder and louder, my mind is racing through several scenarios. What in the world was going on? Had he fallen through the railing around the deck? A picture of him hanging by the neck flashed through my brain. Had one of the large dogs that roams the neighborhood, unattended, come up on the deck and attacked him? Maybe I should grab the broom on the way.
I got to the back door, and there was Runtly in the middle of the deck, yelping to beat the band. He had obviously traversed around a small wrought iron table, winding the leash around the legs. From the looks of things, when Runtly headed back towards the door, the table did too. It was turned upside down and every time the dog tried to get away from it, the terrible table followed him.
Needless to say, it was traumatic. As soon as I got him untangled and opened the door, he shot in the house, hell bent for leather and headed straight to the basement. I guess he figured that was as far as he could go to get away from that table. He shook and shivered for nearly an hour and spent the rest of the evening in my husband's lap. No way was he even going to get close to the back door.
Since Runtly's food and water bowls are situated close to the back door, I thought we might have to position them to the other side of the kitchen. But, in the light of a new day, the terrible table has been placed upright and no longer in attack mode and the lure of a yellow cat peering in the window seems to have over ridden his fear.
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