Run the other way

Friday I took Bear to the dog park. I figured I'd take him and let him run and play, since the weatherman was promising thunderstorms Saturday and Sunday. Bill was still on the road, heading home but still an hour and a half out, so Bear and I went by ourselves.

We got over there with no problems. Bear is still exhibiting mild anxiety on car rides, but he did pretty well. No trying desperately to get in the front seat with me, and I gave him a few treats when we drove over particularly bumpy patches and railroad tracks.

We get there, and there are a few others already there. Bear and I enter, and he takes off running and playing. It was hot Friday, about 85, so all the dogs were playing for short periods, then taking breaks, laying under the benches and picnic table, digging holes to lay in the cool dirt. We were there for over an hour, and Bear seemed uninterested in more play. He was even following me around a bit, something he rarely does there. I decided it was time to go - he was done playing, we could get home, see Bill, get some dinner for all of us. Of course, when I put his leash on him, several of the other dogs had started playing again, so Bear wanted to join them! But I called to him, got his attention, and he went somewhat willingly to the exit.

Outside the double gates, Bear wants to sniff around. I let him sniff a bit, and he marks. Time to go to the car. I open the door, and Bear lays down. Laughs. I try to get him in - "Jump up, Bear! Come on buddy, time to go home." Yeah, whatever. He's having none of it. I thought maybe if I try the other side of the car, he'd go in a little easier. The seat is moved farther forward on that side, so it's easier for him to jump in, and that's usually the side he enters from. So I close the door and start to walk to the other side of the car. Bear was right by my side and started to walk away from me. I didn't think anything of it, because the loop of the leash was wrapped around my hand. Except it wasn't. (And looking back, I think a part of my brain knew this.)

I watch in horror, as if I'm some third party bystander to the whole thing, as Bear's leash drops to the ground and drags behind him. And he's walking in the direction of the street, a very busy street at 6:30 on a Friday. It takes Bear mere seconds to realize that he is free, and he begins to run. My brain is racing, my amygdala and hippocampus screaming, "OH MY GOD HE IS HEADING TO THE STREET. HE IS GOING TO BE HIT BY A CAR." I knew Bear would never come to me if I called him. Not in those circumstances, his recall is not that strong. (Yeah, yeah, I know - shut up.) I could picture him running through the street, me out there with him, dodging cars, trying to get to him before it was too late. And at the same time, thank God and Katie and all the authors of dog training books who wrote about this so it was in my brain, my cortex thought, "Run the other way. He will give chase and follow you." (Thank you Dr. Patricia McConnell, for explaining the phenomenon of my brain thinking very different things at the exact same time. I thought maybe I was a little crazy before I read your blog, laughs.)

And then I ran. I called "Bear!", and I ran. And ohmygosh, thank you God and Katie and trainers and authors again, HE RAN AFTER ME. Shaky breath. The crisis is averted. Bear quickly passes me up and runs ahead, which is awesome. Ahead of us is a long driveway, and we're running on the grassy divider. The dog park is adjacent to a pet and people cemetery, and it is huge. I know that even if it takes me a little while to catch Bear, he is safe. And that is all that matters in that moment.

Bear is running joyfully ahead of me, glancing back over his shoulder to see if I'm still chasing him. Behind me I can hear people in the dog park - they've realized Bear is loose and are coming to help. I remember thinking, 'How can I get close enough to grab him?' I don't, however, remember what I did to get him to turn around and come to me. But he did. He ran towards me, I think jumped up at me in play. And I grabbed him. Just reached my hands out to his neck and back and grabbed. I didn't care if I hurt him a bit, I just wanted to get a hold of him. Didn't want to go for the collar and miss it through the fur on his neck. Didn't even dawn on me to go for the leash still dangling from his collar. But I got a hold of him. And collapsed to the ground, grabbing his leash now, pulling him to me, onto my lap, wrapping my arms around him. And then, yes, I did all the things that dogs probably don't like, especially when they've just been stopped while having the time of their lives. I grabbed him, I hugged him tight to me, I buried my face in his fur, I kissed him and squeezed him hard. And I cried, tears of joy and relief. I could see a few of the guys from the dog park, poised to come running to help, now watching to make sure we were okay. I just sat on the cool grass with my dog in my arms, both of us safe and together.

We sat there for a few minutes, me letting the tears fall, my breathing and heart rate returning to normal, holding Bear to me all the while. Bear stayed with me, on my lap, not struggling at all. Or at least that's the way I remember it, laughs. After a few minutes, we got up and walked slowly to the car, Bear happily sniffing at the grass and flag poles. As we approached, one of the guys asked if I was alright. I sniffled and said that I was okay now. He asked Bear if he was alright. I laughed and said he was fine, he loves to run! That's all I could manage at the time - I was still much too raw to talk coherently for more than that. Bear and I got in the car and got settled in. He rode up front with me that trip. I don't think I took my hand off him more than 3 times, and that was to get a treat for him. I spent that drive, all 25 minutes of it, petting him, scratching him, running my fingers through his fur.

And the past few days, yes, I am hyper-vigilant about making sure I have a secure grip on that leash. And I'll never forget to run the other way.