The other night I took JoJo for our daily walk. The weather here has been gorgeous and lots of people were outside with their pets. Youngest Son was riding his scooter ahead of me when a nice man asked me what kind of dog JoJo was. Behind the man, tethered to his lawn, was his very large and highly animated black Labrador named “Sampson”.
Sampson was pulling precariously on his leash as he ran around insanely on the grass and barked at us. “Oh, Sampson, now stop that,” said his owner. “He just wants to play with your dog”. I doubted this at the time and, after Sampson snapped his leash and lunged for us, I doubted it even more.
“Oh my gosh! He’s broken his leash!” yelled the dismayed owner. By now, Sampson was chasing JoJo around my legs and tangling both their leashes so that I was having trouble standing up. This was a problem since Sampson did not want to play nice and was snapping at my dog.
“Now Sampson, I can’t BELIEVE you’re acting this way!” said Sampson’s owner. “You need to stop that right now!” This is probably a good time to add that Sampson’s owner was at least 75 years old and using a walker. This was NOT an ideal situation.
I was literally turning around in a circle, attempting to use my somewhat useless legs to block the dogs from each other but I wasn’ t having much luck. “Please (pant)… Sir… would you (pant) call off your dog?” I was started to get that panicky feeling when you know things are going south and you really can’t help the situation.
Sampson’s owner apparently got an idea. “Now, young lady, if you would just hand me Sampson’s leash, I will hold him.” My mind was racing as fast as the two dogs. If I handed him the leash with his crazed dog on the other end, he might topple over. If I didn’t stop this soon, my dog might have a chunk taken out of her.
Miracle of all miracles, I stepped on Sampson’s leash, yanking him hard and stopping him, tossed it to his owner and ran away to catch up with Youngest Son.
You probably think I’m rude for not saying something like, “JoJo only has one huge tuft of fur missing, no harm done!” or “Nice to have met you!” but I was just too shaken up. I ran away and didn’t look back. I hope Sampson had his treats taken away for the night but I’m afraid to go by there and find out.
Sadly, this is not the first time this has happened. I had a run in with a Golden Retriever named Maggie last fall, whose owner blamed me for the fact that his dog ran across the street and apparently could have been hit by a car. On Christmas Day, I was chased down by a chocolate Labrador named Tristan, whose owner decided that calling him from his front porch a half a block away would surely bring him home.
Finally, in January, an unsupervised dog, who wanted to prove he’s the neighborhood alpha, came trotting toward me, barking that I should go home. I told HIM instead to GO HOME and pretended to chase him away. He must have decided that I was nuts because he ran away and I never saw him again.
It’s a dog chase dog world out there and I am apparently wearing Milkbone underwear.