- “Sleep in” past 6:30am.
- Have a quiet hour or two in my room alone first thing in the morning before facing the demanding small humans.
- Go on a run all by myself, no stroller.
- Jeff planned to take the kids to Costco (40 minutes away) to get me a cheesecake, while I stayed home alone in the quiet house.
- Jeff planned to give me my birthday present.
- All five of us were going to attend the cross country end-of-season banquet/party at a team member’s house in the evening.
Notice a theme? All I wanted was some time to myself! Pure, uninterrupted alone time is such a rare treat.
At 5am, Amber and Rose tromped into my bedroom. Rose said “Amber just threw up a little tiny bit on her bed.” I rolled over, looked at the clock, groaned, and said “then move your pillow and sleep on the floor, and go back to bed! It’s too early to get up!” Rose often makes things sound way worse than they are, so I confess to not believing her. The girls went back to their room, but as I rarely can fall back to sleep when awoken, I was UP. I laid in bed for half an hour for good measure, but sleep did not reclaim me. So I sat up and read my scriptures in bed, then slowly unfolded myself to go join my family.
Along the way, I checked Amber’s bed and was appalled to find actual vomit in it! Poor neglected third child! Banished to the floor in a puke-scented room! I changed her sheets and was about to rinse the nasty stuff out of them in the bathtub when Amber walked into the bathroom and started barfing again. I shoved her face over the toilet and patted her back while she got it all out. Then I noticed that her undies were full of diarrhea. More clean up, clothes changing, and rinsing ensued. It was a lot to handle before breakfast, but better before than after. When the soiled items were in the washer, I sanitized my hands and the rubber gloves I had been wearing. Jeff helped Amber into clean clothes, then fetched her a bucket and propped her on the couch with cartoons, poor thing.
At this point Jeff and I looked at each other and agreed with a glance that we needed to change our plans for the day. I did get to open my birthday present and go on a run, so all was not lost, but the rest of the plans were set aside. Jeff surprised me with an extravagantly fancy-pants new Garmin Forerunner 935 GPS watch for my gift. It was so much more than I ever would have chosen for myself, and seemed like too much for a mere 32nd birthday! But I wore it on my run, and fell in love. I’ll probably never use all of its features, but it is so cool.
Matching watches. We are so unified.
After Jeff got back from his run, I strapped on my new watch and headed out on one of my favorite “safe” loops which could be 6, 8, or 10 miles, depending on where I turned. I ended up running the full ten mile loop because I love going through the orchards. It was such a good run–hillier than I remembered, but scenic, peaceful, and pleasant.
When I got my phone out to take a few pictures, I saw that my mom had called, so I called her back on speaker as I jogged along. We chatted for a few minutes on the downhill section of the loop, when suddenly a trio of dogs came running up behind me out of nowhere. I was out in the middle of nowhere by the dairies and corn fields–I had never seen dogs on that stretch of road, since there aren’t even any houses. ARG. I YELLED in fear, full-power, right into my poor mother’s ear (our call was still connected), then scrambled in my waistband for my pepper spray.
The dogs did not bark or snap or lunge, though, so I kept my canister cocked and walked for a little while, hoping they’d get bored of me and move on. But, curse it all, they loved me. Tentatively, I started jogging again, and the dogs kept up. I shouted and waved my arms at them every time they got too close. As we jogged down Maple Grove Road, the smallest dog was left behind while the bigger two kept pace with me easily. They zigzagged back and forth across the street, sometimes in front of me, sometimes behind, cutting me off repeatedly and totally stressing me out.
I was on the verge of pepper spraying the beasts just to get them to go away, but I couldn’t bring myself to spray non-threatening, non-barking, mostly-innocent, ridiculously happy dogs. “The minute they started barking, I will spray them and be done with it,” I told myself, but I let them follow me because I have learned from experience that friendly dogs can be guardian angels.
Ten years ago I was on a 15 mile run (marathon training–I don’t recommend it) whereon a friendly big dog joined me about four miles into the run. It followed me for the entire remaining 11 miles and fended off several mean dogs along the way. Eventually I realized that the dog was my own personal furry guardian angel, and I stopped telling it to go home. While I was more concerned about the toothy creatures that today’s dogs would attract than if they would protect me from said toothy creatures, the memory of my guard-dog-ian angel of yore was strong enough for me to cork my pepper spray (though I kept a death grip on it with my fist).
I felt judgmental glares from passing vehicles as the dogs trotted obliviously down the middle of the road. I wanted to hold up a sign saying “THEY AREN’T MINE!” or “PLEASE, DON’T SWERVE!” When it was time to make a left turn, I slowed down and let the dogs get ahead of me, then I stopped at the corner and waited to see if they would continue straight ahead without me. After trotting a few steps, both dogs stopped, turned around, and stood waiting for me, panting and grinning. I rolled my eyes and started running again, resigning myself to their company.
Waiting for me.
My doggy PTSD had me jumping, yelling, and practically crying every time I heard the dog’s claws clicking on the road behind me. They followed me for at least three miles, all the way home. About a mile from home, I turned onto a stretch of road that has several dogs which are usually either fenced or tied, but sometimes not (more of a yellow-alert type of corridor). Usually I can tiptoe past those houses without inciting too much canine wrath, but with my inquisitive entourage, I was a dog magnet. Our passage inspired even more frenzied barking and chasing than usual. My nerves were stretched thin. I about lost it at one house with a thick deep-voiced bulldog that was running free and gave chase to my fuzzy companions. The dogs faced off, bristling and barking while I first power walked a safe distance away, then sprinted as fast as I could, yelling in fear and glancing back repeatedly. I was exhausted both emotionally and physically when my fancy new watch beeped ten miles, so I walked it in, followed closely by the capering duo. They grinned happily up at me and my icy heart threatened to thaw. But I wanted to hate them! ARG! I was annoyed at myself and at the dogs, and especially at the dogs’ owner. If I could just make it home I won’t have to deal with them and their wet doggy grins anymore.
Stressing.
Back at home, I accessed my last shred of humanity and called the number on the dog’s collar. For the record, that involved calling the dog over to me, and then grabbing its neck while it capered around with a slobby dripping lolling tongue. The creature wiggled around so much in pleasure at human contact that it took me a while to be able to read its tag well enough to dial the number. The owner was apologetic and surprised that her dog had wandered so far. She said she’d be right over, driving a blue car. I nobly waited for the owner to come pick it up, waving wildly at more than one incorrect blue car driving past my driveway before finally flagging down the right blue vehicle.
Freedom at last.
It seems like I should be given some sort of prize for my generosity of spirit, but that probably means I don’t deserve one…
At least I got to open my birthday present and go on my run (tainted by dogs though it was), even if the rest of my birthday plans were pooped on! (all too literally) For the record, I did not share this story for birthday sympathy; I shared it to remind myself that not all dog encounters are completely traumatizing. (Although I am inclined to feel entitled to a wee smidgen of sympathy. I mean, I moved my birthday to a different day to make way for my daughter’s birthday, and then even my fake birthday plans were foiled. Clearly the universe is trying to teach me humility and selflessness. Ah well, c’est la vie. Life is good, perfect birthday or not.)
Confession: I petted the big dog before we parted. It was much softer than it looked, like a fuzzy [slobbery] teddy bear. Sigh.
A few more pictures from my run, pre-dog:
Apple box central
This is truly a land of bounty: post-harvest, every apple tree has well over a dozen apples beneath it, rotting on the ground.
Apples on one side, dry grass on the other, heading uphill–it’s way steeper in person. That’s Sunnyside waaaaay back in that grayish smudge near the horizon.
Grapes on one side, apples on the other: this long row of grapes was completely left alone with the vine leaves changing color– I’m pretty sure the grape harvest is over too. Maybe there is an agricultural reason to leave so much behind, but whew.
Since Jeff didn’t go all the way to Costco for my birthday food, he slipped off to Sunnyside’s own Burger Ranch and brought me a life-sustaining Big Ranch hamburger for lunch. And Jeff’s sister Steph made me a birthday dinner last night too, sweet thoughtful lady that she is. 32 is looking alright!
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