Saturday, February 04, 2006

Theme Week 3

I was just trying to be helpful when I put the “Grand-dog” outside on his chain, for a little fresh air. Being a stray from the hills of Georgia, Chauncy hasn’t grasped the idea of staying in his own yard (or his grandparents’) and unless he’s in the house, and you have a biscuit, forget trying to get him to come when he’s called. Unfortunately, when I realized that I hadn’t heard him up on the deck for a few minutes, and went to check, the only thing left was a chain lying in the snow, with the registration and rabies tags attached.
With a yell of “The dog’s loose!” into the house, my son and I sprang into action. He grabbed a couple of flashlights and headed up the street. I jumped into the car and headed the other way, to the main road. I made a quick circle of the trailer park up the hill, where the dog had gone before, but saw no signs of him. Coming back down the hill, I met a car that came to a stop when the red dog ran in front of him. I opened the car door and in my best granny tone, called, “Let’s go for a ride!”
“No way Gran! I am having way too much fun sniffin’ around!”
I parked in a neighbor’s yard with the car lights on and the door opened, hollered to my son and we played tag with the little varmint until he streaked off back up the street. I stopped back at the house for bait, but the lure of freedom was much stronger than the box of Meaty Bones that I was rattling. When he disappeared into the woods again, I went back to the trailer park, cruising around slowly for a glimpse. I spotted him and with the door opened tried to make a ride in the car sound like the most fun since his coon chasing days..
He came running at me like a rocket, and at the last minute veered off to the left, “Psyche! Gotcha Gran! “
By this time, my son had joined me and was walking around with the flashlights, calling and coaxing. I had gone back to cruising, trying to spot the beast, and every time we’d get close, he’d take off again. It was getting darker. It was getting later. I had seen a few people look outside, but no one had come out to help or to ask what was going on. Pretty soon, as I was parked trying to figure out my next plan, a car full of young people pulled up and got out by one of the trailers. They spoke with Scott and all scootched down to call the dog. Again, he ran toward them like a shot, but when they grabbed, he dodged, laughing all the way.
At this point, I could see a police cruiser coming toward me. I rolled down the window as the cruiser stopped, and the officer inquired , “ Is everything ok?”
“Do you have a lasso? “
“Lasso? “ (followed by a blank expression)
“My son’s dog got loose, and he’s playing tag with us.”
“Oh. Someone called and said that someone was shining car lights and flashlights in windows. We’re just checking on it. “
“I’m sorry, officer. We aren’t shining them in windows on purpose. We’re just trying to get the cussed dog. “ (and I can just picture the jail administrators face when he goes to work in the morning if you haul us off to jail! The dear is sound asleep in his recliner, and missing all this great fun)
“OK..” And off they drive into the darkness….
I drive up the street and stop. Scott feels like he’s getting close. I’m watching from the car, and when I look beside the car, so is Chauncy! As soon as I open the door he takes off again. Finally, a man lets his dog out for his nightly pee, and when Chauncy goes to socialize, the bigger dog snaps at him. Chauncy cowers, and Scott is finally able to put the leash back on and lead him home. Wish we’d thought of using another dog as a lure about an hour earlier! Now if I put the dog out, I triple check that the chain is on the collar ring, not the tag ring.
I’ve cut the county police log out of this week’s paper for my scrap book:
“ 9:35 p.m. Car driving slowly around trailer park and shining lights in the trailers. “ Sorry people! Next time if you want to know what’s going on, just ask! I’m pretty harmless!


Blogger johngoldfine said...

Good luck with Chauncy. When I was very foolish and young too, back in the Snoopy craze (1968), I wound up with two rescue beagles. Of course, beagles are not actually dogs--they're four-footed noses. And we had many Chauncy moments over the next 18 years (very long lived, Argo and Susie were....)

After their eventual removal to the Big Boneyard, we got our first actual dog dogs. I'm always looking for shih-tsu types with no nose whatsoever.

5:55 AM  

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