Sometimes a dog just has to run free, snap at the wind, and howl at the moon.
You should, too.
Until I feel like coming back and continuing this blog, run wild.
If I just hadn’t…
Howdy folks.
It finally started to rain outside, so I laid my weary bones next to the computer and thought hard about what I wanted to write today. ‘Cause no matter how I spin this, I come out looking like the bad guy. But I was only a few weeks old! How can you blame a puppy?
Nope, not me, but close enough (photo courtesy of Abney Catahoulas)
I don’t remember much about my early life, but I do remember the day my owner and I set out on our grand adventure. It started out like all the others. I licked my owner’s face till he woke, then I whined till he feed me. Works like a charm, I tell you, every time.
But this day, instead of taking me out to the back yard to go potty, my owner took me out to his van. Shoved me in, tossed a piece of rope at me, and left.
He left for a really long time.
I peed and pooed everywhere. I got hungry again, and sniffed around the van for something. I swallowed a few things, but they didn’t fill my belly like a bowl of kibble! So I looked and looked, but only managed to spread around my poop and smear it on the windows and seats. That was fun, but then I got thirsty.
Still, my owner didn’t come. I don’t know what happened to him, but now that I look back, I think he just plain forgot about me. Soon enough though, the big guy that smelled like kin came out to the van and noticed I was in it. All hell broke loose. There was shouting. My master came out and had the good sense to look guilty, but his eyes got all watery. He said something to his big kin and soon he was back to shouting. They tried all the doors. I ran around to each one as they pulled and yanked, trying to get those doors opened, but they wouldn’t budge.
I was locked in.
Another man with the smell of stranger all over him, had to come from a long way to get me out. I was so happy when that door opened, I jumped into my master’s arms. He threw me down and yelled at me. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was soon in the backyard with a hose full of water. I tried to get away, but my master’s mother held me down with a vice grip.
There was more shouting. My master’s father’s face looked like it was ready to burst. I remember the words “shit everywhere” and “trashed”. I guess he thought I was the trash, because soon enough I found myself back in that van with my master – banished from the house forever.
My master had something shiny in his hand, something that looked a lot like what I swallowed earlier. I sniffed at it, but he just put it into the van’s big steering wheel and we drove off, never to return.
I always wondered, if I hadn’t swallowed that small, shiny bit of metal, would we have gotten thrown out of that nice, warm house that smelled so much like my master?
Well, I don’t know about that, but when I pooed out the van’s key the next day, all my master could do was laugh. I knew I had found my soul-mate then, and we went off on long trip. We got to see just about every state between North Carolina and California, and all the dogs you can imagine. Did you know dog parks are everywhere? Small towns, big towns, and medium-sized towns – they all have ‘em. Everywhere you go there are owners with dogs that need a place to play. As we traveled, we visited them all. Hang around a bit, and I’ll tell you all about ‘em.
But, my claws are getting itchy and I’ll have to leave them tails (like tales, eh) for another time.
Catch you on the other side of the fence.
Life wasn’t always this easy
In the twilight of my years, I find myself in a nice comfortable, geriatric spot. Through intense mental telepathy (took years to develop), I finally got my masters to move out of the freezing mountains and into the California sunshine.
Life on a vineyard is good. Plenty of jack-rabbits to chase, skunks to harass, and wooden posts to pee on.
But life wasn’t always this easy.
I had to fight for what I got. And even to this very day I struggle. I have to give my masters the evil eye just to get my kibble. I tell you, it’s enough to drive an old dog crazy.
But each time I lay my head down on my fluffy bed, I harken back to my youth. Back when I could sow my oats, run wild with the coyotes, and roam free with the neighborhood pack. Sometimes, the memories aren’t so good. I can also remember being chased by the coppers, and my illegal incarceration. I was put in jail for doing what a dog does – dumpster diving. It was a crime, folks. A crime against Canidaes everywhere.
Did I ever tell you about the time my first master forgot his keys?
Sit back a bit, folks, and get ready for an adventure…
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The Adventures of Alby is written by Nila E. White because her dog made her do it. If you want, you can find out more about her here.
