And some dogs do what they can’t help

I spent forty-five minutes or more with Dylan on the missing list tonight in the dunes. It seems a long time when you’ve lost your dog. I stood at the highest point for at least twenty minutes. The highest point gives a vantage of a minimum of two miles in all directions and I never caught a single sniff of him. I gave up in the end and jogged back to the car to get the phone and call home to say I would be late for dinner, ie ten o’clock as it turned out. I walked back out into the dunes calling his name in as friendly and neutral a manner as I could muster thinking I was in for a very long and possibly horrible night – to my surprise he wasn’t that far away and came belting in from an entirely left-field position as if he had actually been panicking and seeking his Master out. He looked like a wild drowned rat, a wild drowned rat who was especially fortunate to escape a kicking. Instead I just fumed at him, which he could tell. About seven minutes before we were reunited I met this lady Elizabeth who saved me during the worst episode ever by emerging from the darkness with her greyhound Luke and with Dylan in tow when he was a youngster. She was the only other soul out there tonight and her appearance gave me a kind of hope, which turned out right; she is definitely some sort of angel spirit for ferrying Saluki dogs home.

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6 Responses to And some dogs do what they can’t help

  1. makemeadiva says:

    I realised last week as we walked through a hot meadow with flowers and butterflies that I was tense: what if we met another dog and it was the wrong shape, or it wanted to play and then it wanted to carry on playing when the Dude wanted to stop, or if it didn’t want to chase nor be chased, or if it wanted to sniff the Dude’s posterior (very wrong if you are a noble hound, or just if.

    Plus last night I went for a hot shoe shuffle round the park, dressed for running, and there is nothing worse than being lycra-clad when you have to stop, stand and repeatedly beg your dog to return when it won’t. Then the other dog owner says

    Oh, you want to put him on the lead? Come Paragon of Virtue – PoV trots over and my humiliation is complete.

    Dog walking ain’t what it used to be.

  2. Stephen Foster says:

    I got some very unpleasant existential moments last night all alone in the middle of nowhere rehearsing my story about how I lost Dylan for ever; what am I doing with my life, why aren’t I hanging with some dudes in NYC, etc…

  3. makemeadiva says:

    Swap Dylan for a red, shiny car?

    I’d sell Dudi and buy a new BMW in a heartbeat 😉

    Canine and existential crises solved innit.

  4. Stephen Foster says:

    But would you get thirty grand for him?

  5. makemeadiva says:

    I might have to throw myself in too to make up the fifty pence I’d be short by.

  6. Daftburger says:

    Maybe Ollie was leading him away ala ‘Bright Eyes’ in Watership Down. You were lucky he came back to you and ‘this’ world! 😀

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