It’s about time for a new post, it’s been a while! So as I throw on some crest white strips I’ll take a break from packing to say hello to the blog world.
(Warning-after reading this post you may think that it was pointless. So, if you’re in a hurry I’d just skip to the last 2 paragraphs) :)
I’m a dog person. You know how the proverbial 2 kinds of people are determined, either your a dog person or a cat person. I’m definitely not a cat person! That is a realization that came long ago with a certain feline called Harbon…(uhhhh…insert skin crawling shiver). I really disliked that cat, I disliked everything about that cat and the worst part about that hairy, stinky, cuddly, fur ball was that Harbon LOVED me. There were numerous times when I would be napping on the couch (one of my favorite past times) and Harbon would insist on snuggling with my face….there were consequently numerous times when I would ever so lovingly toss Harbon across the room. Since Harbon my affinity for animals of the feline persuasion has not improved…I still hate cats. Dogs however, dogs are my kind of animal.
I think I’ve always known that I liked dogs more. I’ve never been much of an animal person in general especially for someone who grew up on a farm (side note- I told my dad I was allergic to the outdoors at one point when I was in high school just so I didn’t have to help with chores- tee hee hee). But deep down somewhere inside this animal-less girl lies someone who really likes dogs.
When we were growing up my family had a dog. I think technically it was given to my brother by my grandpa, but we all claimed him. My siblings and I grew up with this black lab and he was the best. He was my dad’s favorite hunting dog, my brother’s best friend, my mom’s garbage disposal, my older sister’s trail riding buddy, my younger sister’s pillow and my consistent partner always up for a game of fetch. His given name was sparky, however my younger sister and I named him Sparkles P. Wellington III, to go along with his name we created this extravagant life for him where he was a distinguished millionaire dog with a greying beard who had lived a full life evident by the 7 languages he knew, some of which included horse and squirrel (My sister and I had a very creative stage…).
Anyway the point of this story was just to covey that somewhere deep inside I’ve always loved dogs. This love for dogs resurfaced not to long ago when the parents of a good friend of mine went out of town and they asked me to take care of their dogs for a couple days. I was pumped about this and taking care of their three dogs was no problem at all…ahem…well at least for the most part.
Here is a little background. My good friend, Aleigh, and her brother got their dad a very large, enthusiastic, very large birthday present. His name is Boomer. He is a blood hound and I think he is still a puppy, however, he is the largest dog I’ve every attempted to walk. Boomer is huge and hyper and strong, very strong.
Here is my story of Boomer and I on a walk.
Sometime last week I ran out to their house to do the chores in the morning and decided I would walk Boomer first so he could do his business. I go into his kennel with him and hook him up to the leash, then before I know it the kennel door flies open and Boomer was off…I was drug behind him holding on to the the leash for dear life. We took off up the hill around the usual pasture and I decide that maybe he wouldn’t pull so much if I jogged along side him while we were up in the pasture. I was wrong. We started going a little ways and it was working just fine but then we got the the point where we were headed back down the hill. Picture this: Boomer stops. His noes goes straight to the ground and I know I’m in trouble. He takes off. There is no stopping him, he is on a mission. My light jog soon turns into sprinting…and it is not by choice. So, now we are headed down the hill and I feel like I’m going faster than is safe by any measure of the word. Boomer kicks it into a higher gear…ahhhh crap! He’s off…leash out of my control and soon out of my hands. Frick! So I jump up and continue chasing after him I hurdle through waist high grass and jump branches and puddles in my pursuit of this very huge, very fast dog. About when I’d lost hope and start to feel bad that he is dragging around the leash I see a glimmer of hope. Boomer was thirsty and there just so happened to be a pond. Yesss!!! Apparently sniffing out things tires a dog out quite easily and a nice cool walk by the edge of the pond was just what Boom needed. Secretly I think Boomer sensed my sense of failure because he let me creep up on him and grab the end of his leash and even pet him one or two times before he started pulling me back up to the house.
Now, this picture of my adventure with Boomer may seem pointless and a little too much for a blog like mine. However the lesson I learned from this little Boomer endeavor was a very short, sweet, necessary lesson: You could never have an adventure like that with a cat.
And that is why someday I hope to be a dog owner.
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