This morning was very rainy. Now normally it is simply a huge problem for me to get the girls out the door on time. Rain, of course, just adds to the trouble with the inclusion of more appropriate footwear, coats, and umbrellas. Normally we often run, and sometimes I give up and we drive the four or so blocks. It takes us 7 to 10 minutes to walk them… With the added problems of puddles and holding umbrellas, I should have driven today. But I didn’t. I gave them each their umbrella… and took the big golf umbrella myself and out the door we went.
Thing 1 kept bopping herself with her umbrella when she’d do anything faster than a slow walk, and her whimpering as she tagged along half a block behind be became increasingly annoying. Thing 2 couldn’t walk and hold her umbrella at all, for some reason. So I folded hers up, carried it under my arm, and told her to stay close to me. Pretty soon I had both girls walking under my umbrella, staying close so as to not get wet but interfering profoundly with my ability to walk without tripping over one or the other of them, with their umbrellas folded up dripping onto me. Of course there were plenty of overflowing gutters that I had to carry them across… and I can’t just lift them over the gutter and then leave them out in the street… I have to find a nice tree for one to stand under, shuttle the other one to safety on the other side of the street, find a tree to stand her by, then go back and get the other… by the time we get to school (late) I’m all wet too, and I’m realizing that my coat is less water resistant than I thought. I was about a block away coming home, carrying two wet umbrellas with my big one open, when this very enthusiastic half grown golden retriever runs up to me. Luckily it has a collar and a tag with a phone number, but unluckily I don’t carry my cell phone to school. The dog is obviously too stupid and rambunctious to stay out of the street. I hook my finger under its collar – it’s dancing around nearly taking my arm off - and we go three houses up to the house of a woman I know, and we use her phone to try and call the number on the dog’s tag. No one is home. I leave my name and phone number and tell their machine I’ve got their dog. But that means I still have to walk the danged thing three blocks home. We take it at sort of a slow run, me leaning over to keep a hold of the dog. By the time I am within sight of my house I am concerned that I’m going to die. But I made it. I turn Happy Dog loose in the back yard, but it very badly wants to come in the house. After watching it whimper and pace outside for a while, getting wetter and wetter, I dug out an old leash from one of my past dog ownership episodes and tied it to the pantry doorknob in the kitchen.
Luckily I got a hold of the owner and she came shortly after. Turns out I probably should have just walked up and down the street for a while with the dog, as we weren’t far from its home. Standing there for a while wouldn’t have been a bad option either. It just came at me from out of no where, and I had no idea which way to go. Next time I know. I also think I’m not ready for a dog. That thing was just a bundle of energy. It must have clothes-lined itself a dozen times on the leash in my kitchen.