A few weeks ago after the last dog-chasing incident, my cousin suggested that we rename the dog Ikecomeback — similar to the way that she renamed her daughter’s dog, Starbuckbequiet. At the time, I laughed. Well, laugh no more. He is now Ikecomeback.
Yes, we have had yet another dog-on-the-loose incident, but this time there was to be no chasing. We are chased out. Besides, the husband was temporarily disabled, so my attentions were elsewhere.
It happened in this way. Truly, it did. Finished up my run with Mary Ann, picked up the boys (husband and dog) for a short (10 minute) walk before getting ready for work. That was 7 a.m. One hour, one possible broken human nose, one bloody nose, one soon-to-be-sore 60-year-old, and one very tired, wet and muddy dog later, I finally got my hot shower. What happened within that hour was not pretty.
Just one block from home, husband slipped on the sidewalk, smacked his head, nose and neck (don’t ask, don’t know), and the dog was off on yet another exploration. Confused, I looked down and realized the leash was still in the husband’s hand, and dangling at the end of it was the collar, complete with tags. Houdini-like, Ikecomeback had somehow managed to de-collar himself.
This time, there was to be no chasing of the dog. I distinctly remember hearing someone say “Stupid dog”, but honestly, I don’t know who said it. All I know is that neither of us gave chase. Instead, I helped the limping, bloody man toward our house. Oddly, Ikecomeback really DID come back — if briefly. Led us home, then took off across the street.
Left the husband lying down, ice on his neck, a bunch of kleenex in hand, and drove around looking for a Schnauzer on the loose. A few blocks from home, I saw him trotting through someone’s yard. Remembering my boss’ comment that the chase was a game, I parked and sat on the curb.