How I Almost Killed my Dog - Without Even Trying

I found this gem sitting in my drafts folder. I don't know why I didn't finish this and post it. So I am finishing it now. Keep in mind this was written some time in early spring before Kotter was even a year old. Enjoy?
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First I have to say - holy crapbasket - it's finally warm! P.S. the sun is still up when I get home from work -- this is a sensation that is all together new to me! And I like it.

So I get home and think - I am going to take puppy for a walk. A nice proper hike down the paved hiking trails. None of this down the end of the block and back crap. It's been like three months since the poor bastard has had a decent walk. That's nearly half his life. I assume at this point he has forgotten a time before snow, and assumes this is how life is. Bleak endless white. Hell even I was a skeptic to the idea of an eventual thaw.

I head out - puppy in tow. It's wonderful! Warm - melty - sunshine! Sure it's muddy as hell - and we're clopping through some puddles, but it's fun. Water is gushing down people's gutters, we can walk up to fire hydrants and give them a good sniff, and he's even walking halfway decently on his leash and not choking himself out, as he tends to do.

We cut across a back parking lot to avoid sidewalks and cars and make a b-line for the trails. I promise him that I will let him out on his retractable leash as far as he wants to go once we get to the trails because he's being such a good boy.

I spy a short cut - just around a small hill - I can see the trail, we'll just cut through -- but no, there is a giant swamp between us and trail. Oh well, back we go - only to find him stepping in a giant pile of some one else's dog shit...nevermind that, the mud puddles will wash it off right?

We continue on, and come to a lake in the parking lot. No seriously - it's a lake. I ponder just sloshing through it, but Kotter is like, "oh hell no - are you crazy bitch?" and lays down in the parking lot in a move that says - drag me through if you want, but I won't go quietly.

I can't fault him - looking closer it looks to be 6-8 inches deep. We could slog through snowbanks, but screw it - we'll navigate around the strip mall avoiding the lake. My short cut - now not so short at all really.

We're about 50 yards from the entrance to the trail. Excitement and the mysteries of nature await us! I quicken the pace only to be tugged to a halt. I turn to find my dog - crinking on the sidewalk. It's ok. I'm a responsible pet owner and our leash has baggies on it. We're fine!

I watch in horror as my dog soft-serves me a pile of chunky peanut butter. Seriously? Where are the snausages you usually pinch out?! Really?! Now you get the diarrhea?

I'm no good with poop. I dry heave.. A LOT. It's usually psychosomatic though. Like the more I think about it - the more I dry heave, the more I dry heave the more I think about it - which makes me heave some more. But I am going to do this - because I have baggies! Now it's a new roll of baggies - so I can't even pull one out. I have to take the lid off, pull the sticker off, and pull one out, and it's not tearing easily - I am cursing and muttering to myself the whole time my dog is spinning in circles around me saying "let's go, let's go! The bomb is dropped! Vacate the scene, why are we standing next to it?! Cheese it - it's the COPS!"

Swearing to myself, I go in to scoop up the softserve. It's bad -- it's so incredibly bad. My mind is already my worst enemy.

"Hey - you have poop in your hand! POOP! It's smelly and gross and POOP! And it's in your hand, do you see that - POOP!" says my mind.

Dry heave #1 - "hooowahh"

"You're picking it up now - POOP! Touching it, smelling it -- it's gooey -- POOP!" says my mind.

 "hoowaahhhhh" I say, and hold the baggy as far from me as possible.

"Ha! Take that mind, I see a garbage can at the entrance to the trail, 40 yards away now, and closing in, I don't have to walk with poop in my hand for much longer..."

"But it's poop! IN YOUR HANNNND!" says my goddamn mind!

I heave - and it's not so dry this time.

I have mere moments to choose a plan of action...swallow, hold it and run to the garbage can, or let fly...

My mind, which is already against me and gloating for making me barf says - "DO IT! Just let fly - we did the math - and that Ford Escort up the road won't see what you've done - you'll never make it to the garbage can anyway - JUST TURBO IT OUT RIGHT NOW!"

"No" - I think, "I am going to just gopher cheek this over to the garbage can."

"Really?" says my mind. "I just got you to barf because you're holding poop, which you are still holding by the way, and now you're going to keep all that warm awesomeness in your mouth for another 15 yards? Not. Bloody. Likely. Spew! SPEW!! No one can see you! Just do it quick -- SPEW!"

So I trust my mind and launch into a snowbank.

My mind is a lying bitch.

By this time the flow of time in the universe has slowed to a crawl. That entire conversation between me and my brain took 1.2 seconds. In the mean time, the lady in the Ford Escort has caught up to me. Everything is going in slow motion. I am in the Matrix of barfing. I am Neo, slowly bending and twirling to hoark into a snowbank.  I stand up and look around to see if anyone has witnessed my shame. I am feeling good, but again because everything is in slow motion, I have now locked eyes with the lady in the Ford Escort. She has seen. She saw it all. Her head turns so she can continue to see. Again because of my heightened post barf awareness and the slowing of time, I now have the ability to read her mind through her eyes and her mind is saying, "Junkie out walking her dog, mmm-hmm, I knew this neighborhood was shit."

I have a new option presenting itself. Get another bag - clean up snowbank?

No.

So I clean up my dog shit, but yeah -- I am totally barfing in a snowbank and not cleaning that up. I am pretty sure I avoided breaking one city ordinance which caused me to break another.

I am left stuck in a shame coma, but quickly brought back to reality by my ever tugging dog who is like "COME ON! Why are you so goddamn slow?! LET'S GO!"

I drop his shame baggy in the garbage can and we finally arrive at the paved bike trails. We have made it exactly 20 yards and there is another man and his dog walking towards us.

My dog is now so excited to see another dog he is totally choking himself out. He makes this dry honking sound as he is clearly choking himself trying to get to the other dog as quickly as possible. I smile at the dude and his well behaved dog, and smile while I calmly say "No Kotter!" -- my dog has now gone bi-pedal in an attempt to walk faster toward the other dog. They have a good butt sniff, there is much excitement and spazzing out. The dude carries on with his dog.

I continue on with my dog.

We have made it exactly 20 paces before my dog does a 180 - runs as fast as he can in the opposite direction to chase his new best friend in the whole world and flings himself to the end of the leash.

Snap - freedom.

Again in slow motion I witness my dog rocket toward the other dog and owner as I yell out, "OH SHIT." -- but it was slow motion, so my voice sounded like Andre the giant and was more of an "OOOOOHHHH SHHHIIIITTT!" in my ears.

Dude and his dog stop. My dog stops, because end game was achieved. Apparently the retractable has an "Emergency" leash if such a thing could happen. It's roughly 10 inches long, and has a little loop handle. I am supposed to now walk my dog a quarter mile back home on a 10 inch leash. The guy was very nice - waited for me to gain control and trap my rocket dog, before continuing on his journey with his normal and well behaved dog. Literally trapped. I have no illusions that this bugger has been trained at all. My only hope is to launch myself at him like he is a river trout and hope I can catch him. Luckily I did.

My heart is pounding 100 miles an hour, and so is Kotter's. This guy is untested. I'm not even sure if I called his name he would know it. I am pretty sure he hears the Charlie Brown teacher voice when I talk to him. I  am just thankful I have him. We pause to try to calm ourselves. He is beside himself with sadness that his new best friend in the whole world is walking out of his life forever. He's still choking himself out, but now on a 10 inch leash. Awesome.

Mostly I am waiting for my heart to settle and plan how I am going to trod back through the lake and snowbanks to get my devil dog with a Houdini-streak home. I just go to adjust the 10 inch leash in my grip relaxing for the briefest moment when a pack of kids on bikes across the street go by.

Zoom. Grease lighting has taken off again. He is now bounding 88 mph down the bike trail attempting to engage his flux capacitor and travel back in time to November 5, 1955. Seriously - he left burning tire tracks on the pavement, which is weird because he doesn't have wheels.

Again - slow motion comes into play as my dog's 10 month old life flashes before my eyes. He is going to run into the street and get smushed, and it's all my fault. Because I tried to walk him. What the hell was I thinking, taking my dog for a walk?

I yell "NO!"

But there is just a whiff of dust and fur as to where my dog used to be. Despite everything else moving so slowly, I am allowed to marvel at just how effing fast this little bastard is. I am envisioning losing him forever, I am envisioning his death, having to carry his little broken body home.

I am already crying and yelling "NO!" again, but that little douche is gone.

I hoarse plea, of "Kotter, please stop!" some how registers in his tiny peanut brain. Either that or he also realized, "oh shit, cars... scary" or there was some sort of divine doggie guardian angel, because he suddenly slammed on the breaks, looked at me - and rocketed back to me.

I leap at his tiny little form when he gets close and hold him to me by his scruff so I can grab his micro leash. The look on his face says "This is the best walk EVER!".

At this point I am now shaking. There are tears in my eyes and I have to wait again for the heart palpitations to stop. I can't believe he came back. I can't believe he's alive! I can't believe I still have to walk his turdlett home somehow.

If I could carry him I would. But he hates being held, and he is not having any of that. I walked my dog home on a 10 inch leash, bent over like Quasimodo. My dog -- still trying to choke himself out and utterly pissed at me that I am walking so close to him. He kept turning to look at me like, "Ahh! - You're still here?!" And if he had flip flops I would have been stepping on his heels. We had to stop twice, so he could stop cough/honking because despite the precarious nature of our situation he was still SUPER EXCITED to be out in nature.

Somehow we made it home. My dog didn't die. And neither did I. But I am never taking that a-hole for a walk again. EVER!
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And I never did...just kidding. But I never have taken him back to the bike trails. I think about it sometimes, and then go fetal with the memories. We now have a retractable rated for great danes, but I still don't trust that turdlett. He is like impossibly strong. It's almost like our yellow sun makes him stronger than his tiny 27 pound body should allow.