Crazy Daisy

Do dogs get terrible twos? If so, my yellow labrador mix, Daisy, has them. She has been trying my patience for the last few weeks; especially this last week.

I get it. Dogs are dogs. You can't reason with them. You can't know what they are thinking. You can't stop their instincts. You can ask their opinions on your outfits, but don't expect an answer. Sigh. But I'm being driven nuts by a forty-pound ball of energy.

I've owned Daisy for about 14 months. And last month, I started leaving her loose in the house in the afternoons. Before that, I was crating her all day (aside from her (read: my) lunchtime break). She has been doing really well. A few accidents, but nothing major. And until last week, even the mischief she has gotten into hasn't been too bad.

Either I got confident/lazy or Daisy got bored/angry/destructive.

Last week, I came home at the end of the day to find:

A destroyed remote control
A chewed up emery board
A pair of scissors with no handles
A bottle of nail polish with the lid chewed
A pen in pieces with the red ink on my cream carpet
And more.

The carpet still looks like a murder may have taken place.
The cable company exchanged the remote with no questions asked.
A replacement pair of scissors has been purchased - that dog owes me $3.
The nail polish is still usable.

I know many dogs that are much more destructive and that rack up hundreds of dollars in damages. So, I am attempting to rationalize this.

Then this weekend... Daisy escaped.

She was barking at some animal that was beyond my fence. And then. Swoosh. Houdini Daisy weaseled her way under my chain link fence!

Hindsight: This was an interesting experiment to see how I handle myself in a stressful situation.

Picture this. It's 9 p.m. on a Saturday night (luckily, I was staying in; unluckily, I was in my PJs). I left Daisy outside to do her business, as I remained in the kitchen searching for something sweet and I heard barking. I slip on my clog-like sneakers (those ugly ones that have no backs on them) and go outside to yell at her.

I can tell she is barking at an animal from the type of bark, but it's dark out and I cannot see anything. Then I heard rustling in the brush. So does Daisy. More barking. And running back and forth along the back fence. Then, woosh. There she goes. Daisy squeezes under the fence and takes off into the darkness. I yell and yell some more. Then I decide to run into the house and grab a flashlight from my bedroom and a leash. I debate on grabbing my phone, but I don't.

Then I take off, running into the woods. Woods I've never explored. I keep my eyes and ears pealed, while screaming her name (with a few expletives under my breath). I'm sure I'm probably freaking out the side street neighbors - crazy, hollering lady, with a flashlight, in her PJs, running behind their houses.

I can still hear Daisy (or the animal) rustling. I go towards the crunching - attempting to avoid grape vines, bushes, trees, puddles. Good thing I grabbed this little flashlight, otherwise, I would have broke my ankle (at a minimum). I can tell I'm getting closer to the sounds, then I see a flash of the yellow lab, running towards the side street houses, but I can't get to her through all the overgrowth. I have to head back the way I came. When I finally emerge from the woods, I'm back near my house and run the direction I saw Daisy last. I hear nothing. Well, that's not exactly true. I hear barking, but come to realize it's the dogs inside the houses, most likely barking at the crazy lady running down their street, whose trying not run out of her clog sneakers.

Then I really panic. I've lost her. And if she was chasing a deer, she's gone forever.

I start running through what to do when you lose your dog in my head (who to call, recent pictures, post to Internet) as I head back to my house for my phone and my car keys.

I call my parents, ask for help, and tell them I don't know what to do, should I start driving around? At this point, I'm walking along the busiest (township maintained) road in Harborcreek, my road. I'm hoping that if she darts out, I might see her and be able to stop a car before the unspeakable happens. Never did it cross my mind that I might get hit on this darkened street at 9 p.m.

My parents start putting on their shoes and tell me to head home and continue to call for her. "Okay. Please hurry..."

"...Wait, I hear barking. Daisy?! DAISY! I see her!! Come hear! DAISY!"

Of course, I can't get the leash on the mud- and bur-covered dog, because I have a flashlight, a phone, and keys in my shaking hands. Plus it's dark and I can't see what I'm doing.

Luckily, I get her inside my (defective) fenced yard and tell my parents I will call them later, because this runaway dog is in desperate need of a bath and her owner needs a glass of wine.

In the bath, as I pick off the individual burs (I think, this is what monkeys must feel like), I notice scratches along her nose, eyes, and ears. I wonder if it's from the fence, the animal, or the dried plant life. Poor girl, the soap and water are probably stinging.

Also, did you know, mud comes off fairly easily, burs are tedious to pick off, and red ink will not wash off fur?

I hope Daisy had a fun adventure, because my dad is on call to reinforce the Achilles heal of that fence so my escape artist can't break free again.

I guess I handled myself pretty well. It wasn't until I was on the phone with my parents that I felt I might cry. Before that point, there wasn't time; there was too much to concentrate on. I was in a focused panic.

Meanwhile, Daisy didn't even know there was a problem.

Ha! Dogs. Gotta love 'em. Because what's the alternative?