So, this was the weekend to try Eddie, the Neurotic Wonderdawg, on a leash. It was a decision made in moment of spontenaity, although we'd been talking about it for some time. So we were standing outside, headed somewhere, and we decided to go back in, get the dawg, take him for a walk.
Even though we'd only been gone a mere minute, he was at the door. OH MY GOD!!! I DIDN'T KNOW WHEN YOU WERE COMING BACK!! I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE HOME!!!! It was all tail wagging, full body presses, dancing on the back paws, love nuzzles, love love love love love.
And then Bill grabbed the harness and the high-energy greeting turned into armageddon-proportioned waves of energy and whole-body wags and canine CHAOS that undulated through the barking, snuffling, lipstick-sharing, OH. MY. GOD. YOU'VE GOT. THE. HHHHAAAARRRRRNNNNNEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!
You know those money-collector game thingies at the science museums? They're roughly cone-shaped and you roll your quarter on its edge, and the quarter makes slow arching circles around the outer edge of the cone, lapping ever so slightly faster until it nears the bottom and for a few milliseconds, the quarter spins so fast you can't see its edges, and it hovers, suspended in air, spinning blindingly fast for a bizarre eternity... That was Eddie at the sight of the harness. No lie.
Now imagine, slipping a harness over that quarter. OMG. I got him in the neck part and then--oops, he's out--and back in, and he was shaking and nosing and lipsticking and yelping and shaking and I had to slip his foot through the loop--and he's out again, spinning circles, yelping, screeching, wagging--and Bill is "SIT! Eddie, SIT!" and Eddie is doing LOTS of things that are definitely NOT sitting.
We finally get the harness on--twisted of course--and get it untwisted. And then we open the door and ahhhhhhh--off we all go, tumbling down the street. Eddie pulling on the harness like he's pulling Santa's sled, and Bill stubbornly stopping him every few seconds to teach him how to walk sanely on a leash.
Eddie's inner dialog, I suspect, was something like this: I'mwalkingwithmyfamilyI'mwalkingwithmyfamilyI'mwalkingwithmyfamilyI'mwalkingwithmy
familyI'mwalkingwithmyfamily--something'spullingatmyneck--I'mwalkingwithmyfamilyI'mwalkingwithmyfamilyI'mwalkingwithmyfamily.
After several minutes we were able to exert some control, except, of course, when we came upon a bulletin on the Doggie News Network. We had to sniff every inch of the ground, stopping at the interesting news about Snoop Dog or Bow Wow (among others), and of course, add our commentary. Piddle piddle piddle. Who knew a dog could store that much piddle?
The one news source no one is interested in? The red hydrant on Timmons. So much for the stereotype of the dog and the hydrant. This one must surely be a Fox news outlet.
We sufficiently tuckered the dawg out and took him home. Then on Sunday, we actually took him to the coffee shop with us. It went surprisingly well. We expected five minute increments at first, but were happy to see he lasted over 30 minutes, and all was good until it just wasn't any more, and we took him home.
The dog days of summer, that took over so much of last month, have given way to the doggie days of fall, and it's good.
