But on to the story. Last week I was having a pretty rough go of it. I was stressed out about everything: money, marriage, roommate, apartment, pets, baby Avery, finding down time. You name it, I was working myself into a tizzy because of it. And so, as this was all culminating into an implosion of incredible proportions, I was rushing to get the dogs bedded down so I could make my park date in twenty minutes. I had spent the morning cleaning. The last thing I had to do was take them outside and then lock them in their crate.
Achilles had already peed on my clean floors so I knew he didn't have to pee, but I wanted to give him a chance to take care of any other business he may have had. He accomplished nothing outside, of course. Then came Aura's turn. I got her harness and leash on her so she was ready to go. I open the door and walk out, and who follows me? Achilles. ACHILLES!! The perpetual wanderer.
I shove Aura back into the apartment and tear off down the stairs. At that exact moment Achilles was running back to me. But now we're playing chase since Mommy's coming after him. Obviously. So he sprints down the road to the clubhouse. A car is coming our way who luckily saw my flailing arms and angled his car so Achilles wouldn't be able to run onto the main street as easily. After he gets to the clubhouse, he turns around to run at me. I squat down. I'm ready to stop this dog no matter what. He's running. He's running. He's running. Then he jukes to the left. I lunge for him and manage to grab a leg. He flips and skids a little (thank God for that thick, double coat), and I tackle him! Victory is mine!
Or so I thought. Now, I may go to the gym three times a week, but I was out of breath. Trying not to lose my flip flops while running as fast as I could and figuring out how to tell Roger our dog got hit by a car wore me out. And let me tell you, a seven-month-old husky is not the lightest of creatures. So I change which side I'm holding him. Left hip. Right hip. Left hip. Right hip. And that's when it happens. He caught his foot in my right pocket and kicked. My sweat pants hit my ankles faster than I could blink at the car that drove by.
Was I embarrassed? Nah. I skipped straight to hysterical. I was laughing like a crazy person all the way up the stairs. But that dog is my baby. And more than that, he's the light in my dark days. Even the days he made dark himself. He helped me to be able to truly breathe and laugh at myself instead of being so serious all the time. My back actually released all the built up tenstion, and the stress left me. Animals really are God's gifts.
Who else has fur babies? Any ridiculous stories of when they saved you from yourselves? As much as we joke about trading them all for cats, I know dogs will always be a part of our lives. After days like that, I couldn't have it any other way.