|
My family has a greyhound-lab mix. His name is Jack. When he was a puppy, we called him Houdini-dog; he had a knack for figuring his way out of his dog run. Once, he figured out that if he jumped onto the trash can he could jump onto the yard debris bin, and then up and over the fence. Sometimes, he would escape without us even figuring out how he had done it. Being part greyhound, he enjoys leading people on a merry chase; the only effective way to get him to come home was to tempt him with a ride in the car.
The scariest escape: my mom put him in his dog run before she left for work. On her way to work, she realized that she had forgotten something, turned around, and went home to pick up the forgotten thing. As she opened the garage door, she spotted Jack wrestling with something on the garage floor, escaped from his dog run. So she parked the car, got out, and went to separate Jack from the object, only to find his wrestling partner was the spray end of a bottle of Round-Up weed killer. He had separated the sprayer from the bottle, and Round-Up had spilled all over the floor. In a panic, my mom threw the dog into the car and rushed him to the vet. The vet examined him, and said that despite the mess he had made, Jack hadn't consumed any of the Round-Up. Ten years later, he's still kicking around, but he isn't as prone to escaping as he once was.
__________________
If I am not better, at least I am different. --Jean-Jacques Rousseau
|