It was with an uncharacteristic burst of canine courage that I packed my cell phone and pepper spray into my running belt and set forth to try my luck on Reeves Road this morning. Actually, the main factor was probably that it had been months since my last real dog scare-bark-chase sequence, so my battered psyche had healed just enough to convince my legs to try the road of danger. "Maybe the quarantine will have everyone at home snuggled on the couch with their massive hairy toothy doggies, rather than leaving the nefarious creatures outside to shred innocent passersby," I told myself as I jogged along the canal road.
A ways down the canal road, I pulled out my pepper spray as I approached a mentally-flagged house on my route. This house is on the first corner of my rectangular route. The long floppy-fenced yard stretches along the canal road. In the past, all three of their large angry dogs have been tied up behind that wimpy fence. They have always barked and lunged so ferociously at my passing that I never trusted their bonds. If they ever managed to break free, I knew I would be toast. Or lunch, or dinner, depending on the time of day. This same house also had at least three other dogs--the small-to-mid-sized ankle-biter type-- that can trot right under/around the fence and bark-chase me into irritated oblivion. I have never managed to spray or kick them, sadly, but they have caused me no small amount of startled stress and grief.
Right after Christmas, this same house that already had, if you're counting, six dogs, got two new massive all-black deep-voiced dogs which they allowed to run free in their wimpily fenced yard. Dogs that big and angry would gladly and easily jump such a lame excuse for a fence and tear my soleus straight from my Achilles. I only attempted running past this house twice since Christmas, and both times I chickened out at the teeth of those snarling black dogs and turned back. Suffice it to say that I trust neither sketchy fences nor big angry dogs.
But today I felt this inexplicable need to know the status of Reeves Road, which was just around the corner, so I pulled out my pepper spray on the approach to the eight-dog house and braced myself. The tied-up dogs started barking and lunging predictably. I eyed their restraints for signs of weakness like always. The tiny dogs were not present (probably inside due to chilly weather, ratty weaklings). The two new black dogs were nowhere to be seen! I rejoiced for a split second before a different dusty brown pit bull type (large size) charged the fence. He was not tied up. He was barking in ire with bloodlust in his eyes. I slowed to a walk, keeping my eyes on the dog to see if he showed any signs of jumping or shredding that low flimsy fence.
So far no, although he was crouching and barking in a terrifying tone. I tried talking to the creature as I inched along, as far from the fence as possible and therefore uncomfortably close to the now-full canal. First I tried "SSHHHH!" No response. Then I shouted the trusty Spanish phrase "CALLATE!" He actually stopped and looked at me for a few breaths as I continued walking past. Then he resumed barking, but it seemed less intense. Taking a hopeful breath, I tried "SIENTETE!" Nada. I went back to callate and eventually made it past the long fence to safety.
Turning onto Fordyce Road and then onto Reeves Road, I kept my pepper spray in hand as a talisman against my building anxiety. Maybe I should rename it dogxiety. My dogxiety spiked at the sound of more barking, but there was no chase so I continued onward.
I ran as lightly and silently as I could over the gravel of Reeves Road with my eyes cranked wide open and my ears straining for any dog-ish sound. I enjoyed about half a mile of peace. Then as I was approaching a dilapidated old house on the left faced by another less-battered house across the street (a rare close grouping on this remote country road), two dogs started barking. The dog at the cleaner house on the right was clearly in some sort of kennel or otherwise tied up, because I couldn't see it. The dog on the left was a different story. He was a thick-necked black-backed, brown-bellied bob-tailed rottweiler. The dilapidated house had a chain link fence in the front yard, but the ends did not meet so the rottweiler ran easily around the fence and approached the road. I froze, gripping my pepper spray, realizing it was more than half empty, my brain screaming what was I thinking!!?? as the old dogxiety gripped me.
The rottweiler kept up a steady menacing deep bark as I tiptoed closer along the opposite side of the street, while calculating possible trees or fences or vehicles to dash for and climb if the beast suddenly lunged. There was nothing to climb, nowhere to hide. I considered cutting through the fresh plowed dusty field on the right and skirting around back of the house with the invisible barking, but it seemed like trespassing and I still hadn't seen that dog--maybe if someone in the house saw me sneaking around their yard they'd let the dog loose! Or maybe the dog wasn't tied up at all, but just trained enough to only attack actual trespassers! I was too hungry to turn back and retrace my steps, heading home the long way. So I inched forward, yelling and gripping my pepper spray. Callate did not work on the rottweiler, and I did not want to waste the rest of my pepper spray by shooting too soon (the spray range diminishes as the canister empties).
About 100 yards up ahead, a small pickup truck was pulling out of a farm, heading away from me. Too far to ask for assistance. But then the truck paused. Suddenly, the driver threw it in reverse and zoomed backwards alarmingly fast along the gravel road all the way to where I was quaking in my running shoes, weapon braced. When the rottweiler saw the truck speeding towards us, it ran for the safety of its yard. The truck stopped in between the dog and me. The rottweiler tried twice to come back out, but the pickup truck barricade stopped it. I mouthed a shaky "thank you!" and waved at the driver, then slowly resumed my run on shaky adrenaline-spiked legs, trying not to succumb to tears of fear and relief. A minute later, the truck drove past me and I made sure to wave again gratefully.
After that stress, I should have been done with dog-terror, but no. A large rangy white dog that I have sprayed in the eyes with pepper spray before came loping up to me. I tried out-sprinting it because it was so far away when I first heard it coming out of a field, but that creature was determined and he chased me for half a mile, always staying out of spray range but always keeping me on edge with its constant barking. It was awful. When the white dog finally faded, I was barely holding it together. Thankfully the rest of the dogs on the route were only yellow-alert types, so I made it home without any other crises.
I mentally dubbed this loop a Circle of Hell and tallied up the approximate number of dogs I had faced through the six miles: fifteen.
As I jogged along recovering from the rottweiler terror, (before the big white dog found me) I prayed a thankful prayer for that kind person in the pickup truck. Then I realized that I hadn't even prayed for safety at the beginning of my run, even though I knew I was heading into major dog zones. I marveled that I was noticeably protected anyway. In that moment between dog-terrors, I was gently taught that even though God wants us to ask and pray often, he is still there for us and still blesses us even when we forget to ask for it. There's nothing like good old fashioned physical extremity for learning profound spiritual lessons!
Prayers or not, that segment of Reeves Road is dead to me.
I got home just in time to watch the Saturday morning session of General conference. The girls had constructed their traditional box-loungers to watch conference. (they didn't last long sharing one box)
Jay must have felt too old to join in with the box loungers this time. Or maybe he realized that the large open couch could be all his. [dark pictures--grr--because we closed all of the blinds to cut the glare on the TV screen]
Rose spent the second half of the session organizing our massive Chatbooks (photo books) collection.
Amber danced on the table.
She arranged the Chatbooks in chronological order. Cutie.
We continued our family tradition of sharing three things from each session of general conference. The kids decided to stand on a kitchen chair to proclaim their favorite inspiration (even Amber climbed up and said "We should share the gospel.") I always like hearing what stood out to my kids as they listen to conference. It's amazing what they can pick up on while only listening with what appears to be just half an ear or less!
Jeff said his three things from atop a kitchen chair too, with his head cranked sideways against the ceiling (very low clearance in our house).
1 comment:
You guys are the CUTEST!!!
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