For those who know my wife, Megan, and me, it’s no secret that we’re dog enthusiasts. Our two pups, Elsa and Lucy, are not just pets—they’re beloved family members. We thrive on puppy cuddles, wagging tails, and the occasional slobbery kiss. But, when it comes to dog training, well, we’re far from experts. Our expectations of what a new puppy should know, like sitting or playing the trumpet, are a bit on the optimistic side.
The consequences of this oversight? A series of daily surprises, including chewed-up shoes and, occasionally, a mess of dog poop in places it really shouldn’t be. But, as it often goes, those puppy dog eyes quickly erase any frustration.
Megan, who also writes for the Hamilton County Reporter, shared our adventures with the pups in her latest column, and I was tasked with offering my own perspective. Here’s how it unfolded.
It was a quiet Saturday morning in August, and Megan and I had planned to stay cozy in our sweats and slippers, savoring the morning with muffins and bagels. I let Elsa and Lucy outside to do their business, knowing they would likely chew on one of our plants afterward. What I didn’t consider was the aftermath of a windstorm that had hit the night before.
Megan left to pick up breakfast, and when she returned, she asked where the dogs were. I told her I had left them outside. But when she opened the door to call them in, there was silence. A sudden panic set in. I rushed upstairs, thinking the kids might have let them in, but Elsa and Lucy were nowhere to be found.
Then it hit me. The windstorm might have damaged the old fence, and the dogs could’ve slipped out. I rushed to the backyard, only to find a gaping hole in the corner of the fence. Megan quickly called her sister to watch the kids while I ran through the neighborhood, shouting their names, still in my sweats and slippers. But there was no sign of them.
Megan and I split up, driving around in search of our escapee dogs. It wasn’t long before neighbors confirmed they had spotted the pair running wild together, seemingly in cahoots. The troubling part? They were seen crossing Brooks School Road, a busy thoroughfare. Panic struck as I feared the worst, but there was a glimmer of hope—they were still together.
As Megan and I canvassed the neighborhood, more people chimed in, offering tips on the dogs’ whereabouts. A few Good Samaritans even joined the search, likely driven by the sight of a woman in a robe frantically yelling in the streets.
Eventually, I parked my car and began walking, following a lead that brought me to a nearby lake. As luck would have it, the helpful strangers in their truck offered to take me there. We arrived at the lake, and there they were—Elsa and Lucy—on the opposite side of the water.
In a panic, I called to them, but instead of staying put, they both dove into the lake, trying to paddle toward me. Knowing they had never been near water, I feared for their safety. I almost leapt in after them but stopped when they realized they couldn’t swim and quickly scrambled back to shore.
But my work wasn’t over. As I sprinted along the lake, trying to cut them off, my oversized slippers—too large for my feet—were impeding my progress. In a desperate move, I kicked them off just as a police car appeared, its lights flashing. For a moment, I imagined what the drivers in the stopped cars must’ve thought, watching me race through the grass in socks, with a cop now observing my frantic pursuit.
Finally, I reached the corner of the lake just as Elsa and Lucy did. Soaked and exhausted, I threw myself onto the ground, clutching them with all my strength. In a rare moment of composure, I pulled out my phone and called Megan, telling her I had the dogs but might need her help—and possibly legal counsel.
As it turned out, the officer was none other than my brother-in-law, who had come to help. With the dogs safe in the car, Megan and I returned home, soaked and out of breath, but relieved. I retraced my steps to retrieve my slippers, and we headed back inside, ready to collapse.
In conclusion, I may have “bad” dogs, but they’re mine, and I love them dearly. A big thank you to the neighborhood helpers, and of course, it never hurts to have a police officer in the family.
The lesson here? After a storm, always check your fence.
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