While running in the park yesterday I encountered an all-to-common sight. In this case, it was a chocolate Labrador, running like a bat from Hades, in and out of traffic as if it were the first time he had stumbled upon his freedom. He ran, never tiring, from one lawn on the north side of the boulevard to one on the south side, never breaking stride for oncoming cars, some of which slammed brakes and skidded into one another, as others swerved over the curb. He worked his way over a four-block area, leaving a path of disheveled automobiles, upset drivers, and onlookers expecting tragedy at any moment. He ended up in Four Pole Creek, lounging in frigid water as if it were springtime. He had a leather collar to which was tethered a six-foot lead line. He was, in fact, a beautiful Labrador. Moments later a man and woman came down both sides of the street, running and calling his name, totally oblivious to the havoc their dog had wrought.
It is beyond me why folks do not control the behavior of their dog. This dog was a fine specimen whose owners probably paid $300 to $400 to get him into their household. While they worked their way in my direction, I stepped over the creek-side bank, grabbed the looped end of the lead, and pulled the dog to dry land. He looked to be a two-year-old, and though he followed me without struggle, it was obvious he could care less about who it was that now followed his wild drive towards grey squirrels who scampered from ground to tree-top storing whatever it is they store for winter.
The owners, both huffing and puffing, thanked me graciously for capturing “Silas.” “He’s really a good dog,” offered the Mr. “But he runs away all the time,” said the Mrs. “We just don’t know what to do.”
Any of this sound familiar to any of you? It’s an all to-common scene, mostly ending in car crashes and dead dogs. After which people generally admonish themselves, “If we’d only have spent more time training him!”
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