Sheila feigning innocence – Photo: L. Weikel

Sheila Wore Me Out

As many of you know, we are Lords and Masters of two Boston Terriers, Sheila and Spartacus.

Yeah, right. If you believe that, you’ve never had a Boston in your life.

In truth, Sheila and Spartacus rule the roost. The cats, Precious, Tigger, and Cletus, would probably dispute that declaration, but I’m going to stand by it for now.

Sheila is my pride and joy. (Oh man, I can’t write a single such sentence without feeling guilty that I’m not including all of them in my praise. It’s ridiculous, the hold they have over me in my desire that they all feel loved and cherished. They’re worse than my kids.)

Walkabout – AGAIN

As I wrote about in my Declaration post, Sheila has recently taken to heading out on her own for a walk should we take too long getting our show on the road. This has created some serious freak outs on our part, since traffic on our country roads can be brutal. Not only are people not expecting a little black and white to be trotting up the road by herself, they’re usually barreling along at a good clip themselves.

Both Karl and I have really tried to be vigilant. We keep an eye on her whenever we let her outside to ‘take care of business,’ and we’ve made a point not to put her harness on until we’re ready to leave the premises. That’s because we realized that she seems to make the connection between ‘harness’ and ‘walk,’ and would think (given that she’s mostly blind and quite deaf) we’d left without her if we lollygagged too much after getting her suited up for a walk.

She apparently doesn’t need her harness on anymore, though, to feel the call of the wild side.

Thus, I was not prepared to have to go sprinting up our road barefoot when our young, across-the-street neighbor ran into my yard to tell me she thought she saw Sheila out walking by herself.

Needless to say, I threw my laptop aside and took off at top speed. It was approaching ‘rush hour’ and I knew the danger was real.

So Many Good People

As I tore past the house where the dogs live that ambushed Spartacus a few months ago, my heart fell as I realized a truck advertising home renovations was stopped at the intersection that leads to High Rocks. I broached the vehicle and a young guy in the driver’s seat pointed ahead and up the hill. “That your dog?”

A little breathlessly, I replied that she was indeed my dog, and started to explain the situation. But as I looked ahead to where he was pointing, not only did I see his this guy’s friend (hereinafter Chaser 1) jogging after Sheila (who was moving at an incredibly spry clip), but worse, I saw two vehicles crest the hill and start heading toward us.

Just at that moment, Sheila veered from the right side of the road, where she’d been jogging (JOGGING!) and heads into the center. Into the center of the road! Into oncoming traffic!

Without thinking twice, I started shrieking, “No! Wait! Watch out!”  Standing in the center of the road myself, I started frantically waving my arms to get the attention of the oncoming work vans. (I swear, all the craftsmen who live and work near us were heading home for the day at the same time.) Both vehicles slowed down considerably, but I nearly threw up when I saw Sheila quite obliviously trot right toward the lead vehicle. From my perspective, it looked like she bumped her head right up against his passenger tire.

When she did that weird head fake into the tire, she eluded Chaser 1’s grasp and skirted the van, obliviously resuming her jaunty trek up the side of the road again. Chaser 1 was then joined by Chaser 2 (the driver of the second van that had crested the hill coming toward us), and between them, they managed to head her off.

I could tell Chaser 1 wasn’t sure whether he should pick her up, but I called out (between huffs and puffs at this point) that she was harmless, wouldn’t bite, and was just a stubborn old lady who obviously wanted to take her walk early today.

Spartacus Joins the Fray

Just as I’m freaking out because I see her lunging at the tire of the closest van, Spartacus comes tearing up behind me, running so fast I could hear his toenails digging into the macadam. Ugh. Obviously, I’d not even thought for a moment about him when I took off to find Sheila. Bad mommy.

He was a good boy, though. After sniffing the men who’d just helped me corral his mother, he listened to me, stayed off the road (sort of, for the most part), and sniffed his mother approvingly when Chaser 1 transferred her into my arms. Sheila just panted and, I swear, wore the biggest Boston grin on her face that I’ve seen in quite a while.

She knew she’d been the center of attention – and she loved it.

All’s Well…

As I profusely thanked Chaser 1 and Chaser 2, another truck crested the hill towards us. A mid-50s-ish guy with blondish-gray curly hair poking out from under his visor cap and striking blue eyes, asked if everything was OK.

“Just an ornery old dog who’s half blind and all deaf working her will,” I replied, barefooted and panting a bit myself. It only occurred to me later that maybe he thought I was describing myself!

But having stayed up until 4:00 a.m. to write my post last night, I have to tell you: that little incident with Sheila today both freaked and wore me out.

(T-793)