So, the end of the day was fast approaching. I had called a good friend in Florida who was recently ‘let go’ from his company and was concerned because due to the craziness of the economy, not only was he furloughed from his job, he was also in dire straits because the economy had temporarily killed his other means of financial sustenance. He told me that he had enough money to last three months without touching his otherwise ‘untouchable’ means of surviving. I then called my sister as I haven’t spoken to her in some time. The good news is that despite the dire economic times, there are many of us who still remain untouched by the horrible malady that was probably in the United States much earlier than anyone admits.
The girls were, shall we say, owly and in need of some fresh air. We decided to go for a walk. The walk would include the dogs and well, be good for all of us. Little did I know that we would be having an adventure.
In the late afternoon, there are more dogs out so we were taking a chance. Stewart, for the most part, is a dog who doesn’t react to other dogs. He pretty much ignores them when we are walking.
Taking a walk with Lincoln, AKA Rincon, is another ball game. A totally different ball game. I know because I have what I deem to be a sprained pinky due to his lunging, all of a sudden, and catching my finger in the rope of his long leash. Since that incident, I have been way more careful and even utilizing a canvas leash that has a handle down near the base where it attaches to the dog collar, so I have better control. Another amusing thing, my method in the morning to control the dogs is totally different from my son’s.
Have I mentioned the harness Lincoln sports? Well, if Lincoln is in the mood, he can pull out of it. He has done it to me about three times, and I know the signs. Today, however, my granddaughter had him with Stewart in Deerspring Park, soon to be, according to my estimate, a pickleball court. Deerfield, in a sign of the times, is trying to ‘pull one over’ on us and slipping that baby through. But hey, once again, I digress. My granddaughter had both dogs temporarily and Lincoln started hyena running. That means crazy running in Koerner lingo. He ran and pulled back quickly and slipped right out of his harness.
That was one happy catahoula mix dog!
He ran into the woods, a woods usually inhabited by deer, coyotes, and the like and soon to be pickled into a pickleball court. But that is a story for another time. He saunters in and in his usual Lincoln way, will not respond whatsoever to his name. There I am like an idiot with my two granddaughters and Stewart. The younger starts crying, which is totally comprehensible. Teacher that I am, I play my didactic card and say to her, « You know, he responds to you more than to anyone (which is true) and you need to hold it together and call him. » She settles down and then I tell them to stay there while I go in the wood after him.
Lincoln is in Heaven. He saunters here and there, totally oblivious to our calls. I look like the Deerfield Covidiot (don’t know why I wrote that, it seemed right at the time), as I yell and follow him throught the deerpaths. I call home for backup, my son is not answering and Mary Kay does. I knew, beforehand, that this call would assure that I would get Lincoln and I was right. No sooner did I call for reinforcements than I finally approached him and grabbed his collar. It is just too bad that Christian cut short his shower and then went back in to finish after getting dressed.
Did we have an easy time home? Not on your life. The first thing we encountered was a dog who spied our dogs and flew out to meet us, much to his owner’s consternation. It was a ‘Doodle,’ a poodle mix with something else. Off leash? Yes, he was. We finally got beyond the dog and his apologetic owner. Oh yes, I forgot the Viszla dogs that were off leash in the green area by the Deerspring woods (otherwise known to be a future Pickleball court – you, as the reader can see what is going on in my head). They complicated things and the owner was quite apologetic. I spoke to them in Hungarian to the confusion of the owner. He said they were, in fact, Viszlas and were crazy Hungarian dogs. I said I was of Hungarian origin and equally crazy. He nodded in agreement. The third incident was a black labradoodle. For whatever reason, Lincoln seems to go crazy with golden doodles or large labradoodles and he did. We could barely keep him under wraps.
We took a didactic moment to go over what each of us had learned from this adventure. I said I knew that calling for help was akin to having an umbrella, that I knew all would be okay after calling.
That martini was really good, after all this!