I've posted a few things about one of my sister's dogs, a Siberian husky named Chloe. Looking at Chloe, you would never guess that she would be the kind of fickle dog that she is.
Three years ago when my dad was still alive, I had to bring Chloe back indoors. It was a hot humid June day and I was uncomfortable as it was. So I went over to the tree where one end of Chloe's leash was tied. I had to unhook that leash and put on another before walking the dog back to the house.
Right in the middle of changing leashes, Chloe bolted and took off like a bat out of Hades. Fearing that she would run across the street and get hit by a car in that suburban neighborhood, I took off after her, running across five sizeable lawns. Chloe would stop, wait for me to get a couple feet within her distance, then take off again even further. Luckily, a neighbor who also knew Chloe happened to be standing in his driveway and looked up when he saw the commotion. As Chloe raced toward him, I yelled for the neighbor to hold onto her.
By that time, my sister arrived in her Jeep and gave me and Chloe a ride back to her house. Once we got there, I saw my poor dad standing, looking in our direction. He was terminally ill and in no shape to go out, but he did. I was really sweaty and overheated, but relieved that Chloe was finally back home where she belonged.
From that point on, I didn't trust Chloe anymore. I told my sister that if Chloe took off again like that, she was on her own.
And my lesson? I should have seen this coming and watched Chloe more carefully.
Life is hard
3 years ago