In my previous post, I summarized the highlights of my most recent visit to my foothills getaway, but I later realized I overlooked a few minor details. That I almost died, for instance.
And no, it wasn’t a passing coyote, bobcat or cougar that nearly did me in. It was a piece of knotted rawhide. Mike pulled it out of storage to give to me on the drive out to the getaway, hoping it would keep me occupied in the car. I ignored it, however, and continued to do so until Smokey feigned interest in it, just a couple of days before our departure. That piqued my curiosity and possessiveness, so I started gnawing on it in the kitchen. Lo and behold, it wasn’t bad! Soon I had chewed it into a tiny, sodden nugget, and when Smokey passed by, I was not going to let him get it away from me. So I swallowed it.
Heather leaped into action when I started braying like Pepe the Burro, choking and heaving. Foaming at the mouth, too. Heather was simultaneously screaming at Mike, “She’s going to die!,” trying to pry my clench jaw open so she could get her fingers down my throat, and applying a doggie Heimlich Maneuver to my midsection. Finally, enough of it either went down or came up that I could catch my breath. In a minute or so I was fine, except for all the rawhide-infused spittle hanging from my face, nose, mouth and ears. Yes, for just one fleeting instant, I was not pretty.
When things finally calmed down and everyone relaxed, we all agreed it was Mike’s fault, for giving me the rawhide in the first place. Let’s hope he learned his lesson
I recovered with a Spa Day. After my morning nap, Heather gave me a warm bath in the upstairs laundry room (Mr. Fuzz hid under a bed). Then Mike got out the scissors and trimmed my beard, which was matted together in long strands as a result of yesterday’s episode. I was on my best behavior for the rest of our stay.
That attitude more or less evaporated as soon as we returned home, however. It didn’t take more than a day until I sprinted away from Heather’s ball toss on the Parade Ground to chase a rabbit into the South Meadow and a dense thicket of blackberry. I liked it in there: It had lots of tunnels and nooks and crannies to explore, as long as I didn’t get my leash opr harness stuck. That’s just part of the challenge! Anyway, Heather and Mike searched the area and called for me for a while, and they even clearly sighted me a couple of times. I ignored them; the thicket was more fun. So Mike limped home to get flashlights and lopping shears. He was already on the way back to the thicket when I finally came prancing out with a triumphant smile on my face. It was getting close to dinner time.
The following week I snuck out the front door and bolted down the street to the Bartons’ back yard. I’ll just never learn. Like “Secret Agent Man,” I live a life of danger!