Idiot dog, #876 in an infinite series
I took Crash to get his nails clipped. That's an extravagant $8 for five minutes work, but he and we are too skittish to accomplish the clipping at home.
We walked down Sherbrooke. He came in with me to the bank machine, then we walked down to the groomer.
The groomer lifted him on the table - "He smells skunk," in a Russian accent - and clipped his nails and Crash looked like he always does when lifted and clipped: like he was being flayed alive. Fraught with twenties and nothing else, I had to go to the store upstairs to pay the $8.
I didn't put the leash on him to go the five feet out of the groomer's basement place and into the ground-level retail store. When I held the door to the shop open, Crash spooked and took off down Sherbrooke, at least in the right direction. I suppose he thought we were going to waterboard him next. He hates water.
I run faster than Crash does, but he already had his adrenaline going and he had a head start, so he escaped. When I got to Hingston, I asked a man if he saw the dog, and he said, "Yeah, he was lightly hit by a car and he took off. He must be at Grand by now."
Apparently, he was very lightly hit, because I couldn't find him during a 90-minute search. There's definitely a grade of light hitting that would keep him from travelling more than two blocks after contact, and this was lighter than that.
I went back to the store to pay for the nail-clipping on the dog I might never see again, and lost my son's beloved camouflage scarf. I retraced the entire path I took when looking for the dog, eventually returning a third time to the dog store. They hadn't seen it either. I left the store without hope of finding it - but there it was, two parking spots away from the door. Someone had tied it to the top of a parking-spot designator (we don't really use meters at each spot anymore).
The dog's still missing, and I don't have enough time to get into a work groove since I have to do carpool in half an hour. The dog does have tags and it's not the first time he's run away. I expect someone will eventually call us - with good news, I hope - and we'll retrieve him. He never finds his way home.
It's a good thing I didn't take any kids to lose.
We walked down Sherbrooke. He came in with me to the bank machine, then we walked down to the groomer.
The groomer lifted him on the table - "He smells skunk," in a Russian accent - and clipped his nails and Crash looked like he always does when lifted and clipped: like he was being flayed alive. Fraught with twenties and nothing else, I had to go to the store upstairs to pay the $8.
I didn't put the leash on him to go the five feet out of the groomer's basement place and into the ground-level retail store. When I held the door to the shop open, Crash spooked and took off down Sherbrooke, at least in the right direction. I suppose he thought we were going to waterboard him next. He hates water.
I run faster than Crash does, but he already had his adrenaline going and he had a head start, so he escaped. When I got to Hingston, I asked a man if he saw the dog, and he said, "Yeah, he was lightly hit by a car and he took off. He must be at Grand by now."
Apparently, he was very lightly hit, because I couldn't find him during a 90-minute search. There's definitely a grade of light hitting that would keep him from travelling more than two blocks after contact, and this was lighter than that.
I went back to the store to pay for the nail-clipping on the dog I might never see again, and lost my son's beloved camouflage scarf. I retraced the entire path I took when looking for the dog, eventually returning a third time to the dog store. They hadn't seen it either. I left the store without hope of finding it - but there it was, two parking spots away from the door. Someone had tied it to the top of a parking-spot designator (we don't really use meters at each spot anymore).
The dog's still missing, and I don't have enough time to get into a work groove since I have to do carpool in half an hour. The dog does have tags and it's not the first time he's run away. I expect someone will eventually call us - with good news, I hope - and we'll retrieve him. He never finds his way home.
It's a good thing I didn't take any kids to lose.
posted by Webs at
2:10 PM
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