Dog park fright

My sweet Bing endured a harrowing experience yesterday afternoon and came through like a champion of resilience. Because she so enjoyed sharing her story a couple days ago, I will let her share her story of emerging through terror at the dog park.

The snow changes every day this week. In the early morning, our snow that was once soft and powdery becomes crusty on top and smooshy underneath. Yesterday afternoon, with the snow a perfect soupy slosh, Mom let Clover and me run through the woods to the mailbox. We have not gone down the hill and through the woods to the mail box with Mom since the temperatures have been so cold, so Clover and I romped and rolled.

The woods delight us this time of year. We follow the deer tracks and stick our noses down mysterious holes not knowing what we are going to find. After Mom watched our hilarity for a few minutes, she made a quick decision that will not be repeated, at least with me.

“Hey, Clove, wanna go to the DOG PARK?” she called above our chase. Clover stopped still in her tracks and cocked her head. Obviously, Mom used one of those words that Clover knows and I don’t. See, when Clover lived with Nicholas, they went to the dog park in Murfreesboro every day just before dinner. Both the boy and his dog loved the interaction, and Clover enjoyed everything about the daily ritual except the bath afterward.

Clover is a social dog and can hold her own against everything from a Great Dane to a Pekinese. Not me. But, if Clover is so excited about this dog park thing, I should be too. After all, Mom says my middle name is “me too.” There were no more deer tracks in the driveway section of our woods after Mom called out the magic “dog park” words. Clover raced around and made circles; she got me going so fast around the trees that I had to sit down from being dizzy.

Finally, Mom was able to corral us into the car and we drove a couple minutes up the road to the nasty place that I never want to see again as long as I live. Upon arriving at the dog park, Mom looked at her sneakers and informed both of us something about wishing she had boots for the 20 plus inches of melted slush on the ground. She leashed us before leaving the house because she knows Clover gets just a little jumpy when she is excited – ok, out of control, but Mom just does not like to admit it.

Clover took off out of the car and pulled us both through a field with gray slush up past my knee caps, about ankle-bone height with Mom’s big sneakered feet. She took off Clover’s collar and that was the last I would see for a good while of my sister who usually has my back in every circumstance. There were probably 15 dogs at the park running, playing in the slush and having such good playtime in the sunshine that I just had to join.

I convinced Mom to remove my leash and let me go. I really wanted to play “me too,” and after all, Clover was rolling with a Rottweiler, and having a blast. I ran immediately toward a Portuguese waterdog who seemed to be very nice. She let me chase her, but when she turned around to look at me, I froze. I don’t like strange dogs looking me in the eye. I get scared, so I started to weave around and try, try, try to take on invisibility. It did not work.

Dogs came from everywhere and surrounded me. I could not detect wagging tails; I just saw steam coming from their noses and fire in their eyes. They were after me and they were everywhere. I yelped at the top of my lungs. My bowels released, and I heard the most piteous sound from deep in my diaphragm. I have never even heard the sound, and don’t know if I could repeat it on demand. Looming carnivorous canines with large, pointy teeth filled my vision. People ran from everywhere, not knowing if I were attacking, or being attacked.

I forgot about Clover and I found out later, she was off running with other dogs in the woods, or she would have helped me; I know she would. I heard Mom saying my name and, I think she was holding me back. People pulled their vicious beasts off me and Mom fell on her back. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and I could not quit yelping. I am too large for Mom to lift, but she completely covered me and kept saying my name softly.
I calmed down slowly, as nice people held their dogs. I felt ashamed and embarrassed as Mom walked me to the car where I would be safe until she could find and gather up the party pooch.

Survival is just like that. As bad as it gets, we just have to breathe deeply, picture peace and find a safe place. As soon as I hopped into my familiar back seat with the blanket that smells just like Clover, me and home; I felt better. I was able to lie down and find peace before Mom and Clover came back to the car to give me assurance that I was safe and sound with my family.

Mom drove and cried a little. She does that these days. She explained to me that there are times when she gets panicky and has to remove herself from a situation because grief just takes over and there is nothing you can do but get away and find a place of solace. That is ok, she tells me; I am loved and will always be safe at home.

I breathe deeply and am thankful that I have the strength to get me through that panic. Whenever Mom says “Dog Park” again, I will not say “me too,” but “have fun, Clover – see ya!”