For Barry

My blog has been so sad lately. I have a blog friend who could use a laugh. This is an old story. I hope it brings a smile or two!

Back when we lived on the farm, I came up with this Great Idea. The dogs were pulling me down. Literally. We’d be out walking, enjoying life, and some stinking squirrel, or rabbit, deer, groundhog, fox, figment of Opie’s imagination, whatever would take off down the path ahead of us, and the six whippets would simultaneously accelerate. It is hard to stay upright and hold on to six leads when one hundred and eighty pounds of Whippets go from two to thirty mph and you’re not expecting it. Shoot, it’s hard to do it when you are expecting it, but at least you can sit down.

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I had started wearing a hefty belt outside of my coat, and affixing Giacomino’s lead to it. He was recovering from orthopedic surgery, and he simply could not run loose. So my Great Idea was to make special three- to four-foot-long leads for all of the dogs. I would snap all six leads to heavy brass rings on the hefty belt. That way, the dogs couldn’t pull the leads out of my hands when they took off. And because the leads would be attached to my waist, my center of gravity would be lower. It was a Great Idea!

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I figured the beauty of the Great Idea was that, what with my lower center of gravity and all, the dogs wouldn’t be able to pull me splat on my face, as had become their habit of late. I could dig in my heels, quite literally, and all would be well.

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I walked that way for about a week. There were a few incidents of squirrel, deer, and groundhog sightings, but I remained on my feet and no dogs got loose. I arrived at work fairly beaming. “This is the Best Idea I’ve ever had,” I crowed. “I need to find a way to market this so that everyone can walk all their dogs at once.”

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The very next morning I went walking all the dogs before work, congratulating myself for my Brilliant Idea. I turned the corner at the edge of the woods. There is a slight decline there, as the tractor road dips down for about a hundred yards until it turns gradually left into the woods.
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I felt the speed even before I saw the rabbit. I was somehow flying. Or, not quite. I was running like the Six Million Dollar Woman: going about twenty or twenty-five miles per hour, with each stride getting longer and longer until each foot would only touch down every fifteen feet or more. I was screaming, “No, no, no, no, oh stop, no, no, no, ahhhhhhhhhh,” but the Whippets didn’t hear any of it. They were six dogs who were one. Because of the belt, I couldn’t fall down. It was like I was water-skiing or on one of those flying kites behind a boat. And we kept increasing in speed.

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We had already covered the hundred yards and were turning into the woods. The stupid bunny just kept running straight down the tractor road ahead of us. It could have turned into the woods and disappeared, but noooooooooooo, it just kept running straight in front of the six Whippets and the Six Million Dollar Woman, and I swear to you, dear readers, I swear to you, at this point we were going at least, at least thirty miles an hour.

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Now I’m not a particularly religious person. It’s been years since I set foot in a church. But as we entered the woods, I felt both of my empty hands waving way up above my head. Every finger wiggling like so much wheat on a windy day. And I heard a humble little Patience voice, crying out loud, “Oh, Sweet Jesus, help me!”

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The next thing I remember is wondering why on earth I had decided to take a nap in a wild rose bush. I was lying about five feet into the woods, with my face smack up against a multiflora rose. For those lucky readers who’ve never been up close and personal with a wild rose bush, well, that’s what they use in Ireland to keep bulls away from the cows. A multiflora rose bush makes barbed wire look like dental floss.

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As I regained consciousness, there were six contrite little Whippets looking down at me, each one saying, “It wasn’t me. No ma’am. It wasn’t me at all. I wasn’t even here. I just got here to see if I could help you. Could you move away from the roses, though? They are awfully stickery.”

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Well. I thought it was a great idea.

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(adapted from an essay in Mama Pajama Tells A Story, (c) PC Renzulli, all rights reserved)

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hug your speedy, innocent hounds