It's a Dog's Life.... The Waiting Game!

This post is written entirely by Fergus, the youngest of the furry herd.  The poor dude has to exercise his patience on a regular basis therefore I thought it would be fitting to let him "write" the end of week blog.

"What the hell time is it?????? Where am I?????"  Friggin' Bill (the last remaining cat) and his need to announce that he will be gracing us with his presence.   Does he not realize that it is 3....AM!  What a bastard!!!!!   You would think he would know by now that all it does is get "She With the Three Mouths" bitchier than bitchy...... 

Yup!  

He succeeded.  Three Mouths is swearing and locking  Bill out.... banishing him downstairs, yet again.

Sigh!!!! Can't a dog get any peace and quiet?  I can't wait until I am Gimli's age and my hearing goes.  He seems to be able to sleep through anything and everything unless it is the food dish being filled.  

Nappy time is claiming me again........  Ruff!

My Puppy senses are a tingling..... yes siree..... Three Mouths is stirring.

Yippeeeee!!!!! We are getting up.  It's morning!!!! Outside.... outside...... OUTSIDEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mmmmm the smells!  It snowed overnight.  Ohhh Chloe's been by..... and Russell that scamp!  He always leaves the bestest peemail messages.  

Drat!  Three Mouths is bellowing at the door.  Guess I need to cut my exploration .... what's that????  Must check it out!  

Ohh shit Three Mouths is counting.  That is never good... better saunter over to the door before she puts her shoes on.  That is NEVER a good scene when she has to come and get me.

Oh..... oh.... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Three Mouths is getting dressed.  

She is getting dressed.  

She has on her pants...... there's the top......

Fudgeoo I know what is happening........

yes..... Yes........YEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!

Sweet Mother of Pearl we are going for a walk!!!!  

A WALLLLKKKKKK! I think I might pee myself..... 

Wha! 

Where is Three Mouths going.  She is heading to the green room.  That's not downstairs.   Now she is stroking the beast in the corner and it is now making beeping noises.  It seems happy to see her.  

Cute Beams on High!

Three Mouths won't even pay attention to me.  She is intent on stepping up on the beast.  

Stop..... stop....STTTTOOPPPPP!

She's done it!   She is walking on the beast.  

Uhhhhhhhh HELLOOOOOOOOO!  

It's called outside!

We can all walk and you can delight in telling me everything that I am doing wrong..... you know our schtick!  I run ahead and pull your arm.  You scream "Tooo far" and I jump back and try to take your legs out from under you...... Good times,   good times.

Seriously!  What is so good about walking on the spot.  I tried it!  I didn't care for it.  There are no fresh scents to explore.  

BORING!!!!!!!!  

Hmmmm.....  maybe if I sit here really cute and patient Three Mouths will realize she is wasting her time on that elliptical thingee and what she needs is to be outside. 

Hello dejection my ole' friend

COME ON #@%$#@!!

Nothing!

I am bring full on cute and not even a glance!

UNACCEPTABLE.

If you need me I will be sulking in the corner.... not that you care!  

I shouldn't have peaked.  

She doesn't care..... I will die alone... there will be no more peemail for me...... my life is ruined......RUINED  I say!

The beast has quit beeping!  Holy Lord..... Three Mouths is stepping down.  

Whoot Whoot!!!!!   

I love you.  I love you, I love you. 

Now that's what I am talking about!

Ummmm do you not see my belly.  A little less stretching and a little more petting.  

PET ME!  NOW!!!!!!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........ belly rubs are the bestest of bestestes!

Three Mouths!  Did you know that you are sweating?  Here let me get that for you!  No I insist.  Hold still you are making it near impossible for me to help you get rid of those glistening beads of salty yumminess!

Geez' you would think that Three Mouths doesn't care about grooming and appearance the way she is trying to avoid me.  Pushing me away..... trying to turn my head..... telling me to "Leave it!".  

Ohhh Three Mouths you are soooooooo very funny!

Salty!  Me like!

Okay.... walk time!

WHAT in Golly gee wilikers is she doing.   

A SHOWER!   

HELLO!!!!  

Why do you need one of those.  I just groomed you my dear!  

Paw to forehead!   

I give up!  I'm going back to bed!!!!!!!!!

I say good day to you Three Mouths......

Why do I even bother to get out of bed?

I said good day!

So long my peeps! May you have greater luck than I getting walked today.

Fergus and Other F-Words

I am adorable... Why is she complaining?

Maybe the change in weather has made me cranky and a little less tolerant... maybe it is hormones (Fergus's not mine).  But Fergus seems to have turned into a giant pain in the kester lately.  Thoughts like "I want to banish you for all time", "I love you so much it hurts", "Could you be a bigger goof ball?" are constantly swirling around in my head.   Sometimes the cycle between these conflicting ideas and resulting emotions can be days; sometimes nano-seconds.

Take yesterday as an example.  It opened with a Goof-ballesque morning.  Fergus was running full tilt when he caught a whiff of something that was apparently so enticing it caused him to forget the first law of Physics-  objects in motion tend to stay in motion.

He dropped his head to look for what smelled so good.  The only problem- he had not stopped running.  His head was sucked between his front legs.  His hind-end lifted up and flipped over.   Even the Russian judge would have given him a score of 10 for that somersault.
I laughed.

He lay there with his feet up in the air.... stunned.

This is the type of hi-jinx that started our day.  Sadly it all went downhill from there.

This week, marks the week that Fergus discovered counter-tops and the bounty they behold.  He celebrated his discovery with downing a banana.  He was in the midst of eating his second banana when I found him.  Let me tell you he was not giving it up without a fight.  He clamped down on the banana with such tenacity, pit-bulls would have been envious.  I eventually wrestled it out of his mouth and tossed the slimy, slithery mess in the garbage.   Since that moment it has been game on.  Nothing is safe.

Yesterday's grand tally was:

Fergus:

• 1 Ikea wooden spoon... texturized beyond usability
• 2 spoons- slobbered on, hidden, but not destroyed
• 2 pots sniffed, 1 licked
• 1 glass knocked into the sink.... you know.... just helping me out!



Insert words that rhyme with Chuck-it here!

• 1 knife, taken off of the counter via blade in mouth.  I am sure he was planning on hiding it to use as a shiv should I try to take any more banana's away from him.  

Me:  

• "Fergus!" repeated in varying degrees of exasperation and sometimes followed by other F-words
• Religiously doing dishes as they are used.... which could explain some of my crankiness (I detest doing dishes).
• Trying to find strategic placement for food items that are typically housed on the counter.
• Many, many sighs and grrr Arrrgh's..... to numerous to count.

Add to that 3 urine accidents and you get a picture of how my day was going yesterday.

A dramatic re-enactment of the Chuckit demise

Yesterday afternoon while working on a project I heard gnawing.  I glanced over and there was Fergus on the couch with an antler.  I went back to working.  The gnawing sound continued.  

My spidey senses must have been tingling, as  it was not long before I was compelled to go to the living room to really look a what Fergus was doing.  As it turns out the antler was a decoy.  He was really chewing on was the newly purchased Chuckit (a contraption that was invented to allow dog owners to throw balls farther and eliminate the need to handle said goobered balls).    I could feel my ire rising.  I started counting to 100.  As we were walking over to Fergus's crate, to start his time-out, I found his strategically placed booby-trap...

Surprise!  Urine accident #4!

AHHHHHHHH!!!!  

Fergus started his time-out.  I went for a nap.  

Side note about the Chuck-it.  This is the second Chuck-it.  The first Chuck-it was lost at the dog park last week when the Dogs decided to be arsehole-lee-o's before entering into the park.  As I was trying to get them under control, the Chuckit slipped out of my bag.  I did not realize until latter, but it was too late.  The Chuckit was gone.  Chuckit 2 lasted exactly one day before Fergus got his jaws on it..... see Exhibit A.

The Chuckit the day before....

The Chuckit post Ferg-i-fying

I decided to test out the Fergus's version of the Chuckit last night to see if was still usable.   It is... but it no longer picks-up the ball.   I will have remember to bring hand sanitizer the next time I use it.

Some pics from our Chuckit session last night:

"I don't know why we are running.  I am just following  you."

"Oh I get it... you have a ball!  

WHAT!!!!!

I must have the ball!!!!!!!!!"

"Are you dead??????? Blink once if you are still alive."

"Ha ha!  My plan worked.  I have the ball.

You can't have it!"

The day had turned around.  I was content.  The dogs were happy and tired which in turn relaxed me more..... sleeping dogs don't need supervision.

Then it happened.

I headed to bed and found out that the cat had jumped on the puddle-making band wagon.  

Yup!!!!!  

She peed the bed.

You know what I call that.......  synchronicity.  Start the day with pee.... end the day with pee.  

To think yesterday morning I was having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next blog.  Be careful what you put out in the universe.....  as it works in mysterious  and sometimes wet ways.

As for me.... I am focusing on the blessings that came out of yesterday.... dishes done; clean floors, dog love, chuckles and clean sheets!

Do you know what this is?

An F-Bomb in photo format!

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls.....

'Cuz I can just make you one.  Especially if you take your little 'ole time closing the door!

Fergus Falls

See I just saved you a whole bunch of time.  

Meanwhile back at the ranch:

I am sooooo exhausted.... I need a nap to recover from my nap!

Craptastitic Adventures in Diarrheaville

At a recent staff meeting one of the Mom's on maternity leave was telling the table about the con's of having two kids under the age of two.  It seems that her children have decided to conspire and have opposing sleeping schedules which means she and her husband do not get a lot of sleep.  She turned to me and commented "Having pets, you probably know what I mean.... late night wake-ups, needing to go out, etc."

That is when I made my vital error.

I replied-  "I have senior pets.  They sleep in longer than I do.  Gone are the days of sleepless nights and multiple wake-up calls.  My life right now is simply divine."

The Gods of Divinity did not like my answer.  Divine retribution for my cheeky reply was their new mission.  Within two days the poo hit the fan.... I so regretted my earlier comments, but it was too late to take them back.  I just had to live with the consequences.

Some back ground information-
I am an urban farmer.

An urban what??????

An urban farmer is a someone that longs to live in the country but currently lives in the city.    They compensate by trying create a little country in the city.  If there were no pesky city by-laws, the urban farmer would make the leap and become a full-fledged in-town farmer.  Alas there are by-laws, so the urban farmer has imposed limits to animal options and must show restraint in their urban farming efforts.

In my case, my farm diversification plan includes a furry herd (three cats and a dog) and a plethora of flower gardens.  One of the cats is 18- years old and is

Syd... the cat who dreams of being an only cat!

consistently defying my predictions that it is close to the end of her life.  For three years I have been convinced that she will soon meet her Waterloo.  She chooses not to be defined by my predictions and continues to defy the odds I have outlined for her.

She is starting to look a little like Skeletor.  Her petite frame has shrunk from 11 to 5 pounds over the last three years.  She continues to be agile and eats.... as long as I stand guard and banish the other cats from her dining area by the hot air register.   My only complaint is, she has occasional diarrhea and appears to have lost her ability to predict when it is coming.  This has led to accidental pooing in areas other than the litter box.

Delightful... it is not.

As I mentioned I also have a dog.  Having a dog ensures that I do not hold the neighbourhood title of "Crazy Cat Lady"..... the title gets shortened to just plan "Crazy" or UF (urban farmer) as I like to refer to myself.  For the most part the dog has a bladder and bowels of steel.  However, every now an then

Gimli-  the dog that thinks he is a cat

he is stricken by the dreaded diarrhea.  He tries to help out by eating the feathers of his tail or grass, but that ultimately results his hacking up of a giant hairball.

Ohh yeah!!!!!  Raise a dog with cats and he eventually thinks he is a cat.  He attempts to do all that cats do-  like sleep on the back of couches, jump up on counters and it is not long until the dog demonstrates he can regurgitate hair with the best of them.

So now that you are up to speed here is a recap of the night the Gods of Divinity decided to punish me for bragging about the ease of having a furry herd.

It was Gimli who started the poo-poo parade.  He woke me up at 1:30 am by placing his nose close to mine and letting out a low guttural "Woof" in my face.  I jumped up startled, not really know where I was- let alone why I was up.  The dog's to and fro prancing quickly alerted me to his immediate need to go out.  As soon as my feet hit the floor the dog shot to the door like a bolt of lightning.  I trudge begrudgingly down the stairs after him.  I donned my boots, scarf, jacket and mitts ready to face the frigid outdoors.  He vacated his bowels in three different spots and we returned to the comfort of the house and I to my warm bed.   Soon I was asleep again.

But my slumber did not last too long......

Within an hour I awoke to a foul smell.   It was close and it was over-powering.  I felt something leap over my prone body.  I sat up... I sniffed... the heinous odour was close.... too close.  "No, no, no, no!!!!!"  I flicked on the lights only to witness the graphic art design left behind  on my bedding by the cats' ample diarrhea!  The only saving grace- she shat beside me and not on me.

2:30 am  and what was I doing?   Laundry of course.

An hour later I was crawling back into my freshly made bed.  I delighted in the fact that the worst was over.  I curled up on my side but sleep was a no go.  I flipped onto to my back.... nope still awake.   I went for no fail sideways sleeping position.  Nope!  Back to side lying.....  finally I fell asleep, when....

Duh duh da!!!!!!

The dog woofed at me again.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

I stood up and the room started spinning.  My legs felt weak.  I looked at the dog and knew I did not have the fortitude to don all my winter apparel to take him outside to "pee" out his poo.  I almost cried.  Then I recalled I have puppy pee pads for the cat.... it really saves the hardwood floors.  I grabbed a couple and instructed the dog to use them when he finally broke down and let the diarrhea flood gates open up.  I crawled back-up the stairs and locked all the animals out of my room.  I knew there would be at least one mess to clean in the morning, but I hoped it would not be too big and that it was conveniently on the pads vs the one and only area rug in the house.

As it turned out-  I might as well have taken the dog outside.  This was the same night that Bill (cat #2) decided to serenade me for the remainder of the night!  ** See "Timmy Better Have Fallen  In the Well" post. ** 

Around 5:00 am I needed to extricate myself from the room to use the washroom.  As I was sitting there, I noticed a dark blob on the light flooring.  It was lit by the soft glow of the night-light.  Sans glasses I squinted trying to make out what it was..... a sock?  Did I drop something?

No!!!!!!  It couldn't be!!!!!  It isn't a pile of poo.... Is it?  I became frantic.

Did I step in it??????   Reason set in-  No you didn't.  It would have gushed under your foot and between your toes if you had.  Whew!!!!

The next thought was-  Crap, crap, crap, is it on my pant leg.  I wanted to know the answer but was loathe to feel to find out.  I waited until I was free to turn on the light.  Yup-  it was pooh and no it was not on my pant leg.  A quick clean up and it was back to being serenaded by Bill until I finally gave up on trying to get some sleep.

Animals!  

If you have them- be prepared to deal with proverbial and literal pooh!!!!!!!

Poo Bags-  The Urban Farmer's most prized farm implement

Timmy Better Have Fallen In A Well......

Ahhh relaxation!

There are minimal advantages to living the life of a spinster.  People look at you and wonder what is wrong with you that you can not inspire others to love you.   You are constantly asked-  "Do you have a boyfriend?  Girlfriend??.... Hell any kind of friend????"  Which is invariably followed by the dreaded "Why not?"  

Making a choice to get a pet or two, or maybe more than two, can have a drastic effect on how others view you....."Hmmm so she is one of "those".... a crazy insert label of choice lady.  That explains the lack of a significant other!  Who would want to be saddled with that hot mess!".  Last but not least, there is no dual income and no one to blame when the roll of toilet paper doesn't get changed once it runs out.

In my opinion one of the main advantages of spinsterhood is sleep.  Glorious, glorious sleep!  If I want to take a nap in a sunbeam in the middle of the afternoon or say 30 minutes after waking..... I can!  If I want to sleep in and spend all day in my jammies... I can!    There is no one else around to throw a quizzical glance at my choices or to disturb me.  It can be a blissful existence.  Unless, of course, you make the decision to introduce a pet into your life.  

Pets don't automatically equate to sleep intrusion and major life-style cramping.... it all depends on your choice in pet.   Say if you chose a fish or a bearded dragon to fulfill your need for a company.  Not much impact on the wake-sleep cycle of your choice.

Hamster?

Well be prepared to be up all night, especially if yours owns a squeaky wheel.

Cats or dogs?

I can attest to this one.  Heed my warning.  There will be days where you will question the saneness of your choice(s), especially in the begin.  But these days will be followed by days where you can not believe you even own pets, especially once they reach the senior stage and they enjoy sleeping-in more than you.   

That is unless you have a Bill!

Mild mannered cat or evil Mastermind?

Bill is friend to all,  but is chalk full of quirks.  The most annoying quirk is his propensity for announcing that he has entered the room or has decided to join you on the bed.  Instead of a drum roll, he relies on a "Merow!!!!!" to alert you to his presence.  Not an issue when it is noon, but definitely not so delightful at 3 am.  I have lived with this irksome habit for 11 years and for the most part have become accustomed to it.  But on my "cranky-pants days" it drives me around the bend.

The other night after a series of unfortunate circumstances (to be blogged about later) I found myself awake and very grumpy at 4 am.  I did what any reasonable person would do..... I ranted and banished the furry herd from the bedroom.  This plan would have worked out well...... if there was not a Bill.  Bill decided he needed to "check-in" on me and my mental health.  

So very, very thoughtful of him! But not appreciated.

He kept coming to the door and asking how I was doing every 30 minutes.  Yup just long enough for me to relax and start falling asleep but not long enough to be fully oblivious to his "caring" ways.

The first time it happened I thought it was a one off.  The second time I was more than a little pissed but still optimistic.  The third time I wanted to scream but realised I would only reinforce the pattern and will have taught him that torturing me for an hour and a half gets results, so I decided to internalize my frustration and not respond.

Dear reader, what occurred after that was a Mexican stand-off.  With Bill upping the ante and alternating his "checking-in" pattern from 30 minutes to 5 minutes to 15 minutes to every 2 minutes.  

What was a I doing???? 

It fluctuated between fantasizing about killing him, trying to think of what I had close at hand that I could throw at the door, but not dint the door nor break the object that I threw and writing 4  blog entries in my head.

It was a stubborn throw down and I was prepared to win.  Unfortunately so was Bill.

I don't know how long it went on, as I refused to look at the clock, but it was around the time the sun appeared in the window that I started to wonder if he was trying to tell me something in the grand fashion of Lassie...... Maybe one of the furry herd had a heart attack!  Maybe someone was breaking into the vehicle outside!!  Maybe the pipes brust and the basement was flooding!!!  Maybe there was a fire and all the smoke alarms were malfunctioning!!!!!!!!!!  

This pondering birthed this blog and the title.  I started hoping that something was really wrong.  If there was something wrong Bill would be a hero...... not a whiner.  I could quit being mad at him and would be proud to be sharing my living space with him.  I started fantasizing about what I would say in my interview with the local press, as you know they would want to hear this fantastic story of heroism!
It went something like this....

"It was fate that brought this little critter into my life.... I saved his life and here he is saving mine.  He is the treasure of the North!  I am so very, very fortunate that he is in my life!"  

Now the only thing that remained was to extricate myself from the room, without letting Bill win the showdown, so I could bare witness to his heroic efforts.  I patiently waited until there was a lull in the meowing and made my appearance.  It was pretty clear by the time that I made my way to the main floor that there was no emergency.  Drat!  He is just a periodic whiner.

Lesson learned-  Bill is not Lassie; he is just a cat who likes to talk!

Life Is A Highway- Unless Your Dog is a Bonehead!

My dog has it in his head that he is golden and nothing bad will happen to him.   I am sure when he looks into the mirror this is what he sees....

Picture from US Magazine.com

But the reality is more like this......

As you can see, there is a valid reason for his assumption.... he is a Golden.  Unfortunately, the name of his breed does not provide him with any extra super-dog powers... no matter how much he tries to be a member of Marvel's Avenger Team.  

 

Over the years I have experienced countless seconds of panic and shear terror and hours of worry.  Here is a sampling of his "golden" moments.

4 months old-  He decided that it would be a great idea to try and eat my Schick Quattro razor.  This resulted in his swallowing one of the blades and me spending the next two days squishing bags of poo trying to make sure the blade came out.  I am sure the neighbours thought I was loosing it.... "Yep Martha she is out there squishing poo bags again.  Now she is jumping up and down, celebrating!  Do you think we need to phone someone?"

4 months- present-  I used to have a running total of all the socks, tights, etc. that he swallowed, regurgitated or passed.  I stopped at 13 that was around about his 3rd birthday..... he is now 9.   As he as aged he need to eat hosiery has decreased but very now and again, when my guard is down he surprises me.  When Gimli arrived, I bought Golden Retrievers for Dummies.  The book recommended pet insurance because Golden's are know to eat everything.  So true.

 

You are probably wondering why I do not pick-up said items and put them out of the dogs reach.  I trust me I do..... the rest of the furry herd i.e. the cat has taken to finding the socks and knocking them down for the dog.  Are they working in tandem or is the cat secretly trying to kill the dog?  This is an unsolved mystery. 

11 months-  We were chilling at a rest stop in Michigan.  All of a sudden he noticed the long curved drive in.  A light bulb thought bubble appeared over this head and I heard a ding as he turned and took off at full tilt down the drive.  That was not enough for him. He hungered for more distance and speed.  What's a dog to do?

 

Solution- turn and head down the middle of the highway with traffic coming at you from both directions.  I was beside myself.  He was not responding to my "YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU COMMMMMMMEEEEEE!"  In his mind he was....



Picture courtesy of The Flash TV Series



the fastest dog in the world.  He was off and running, no cares in the world.  There were beautiful butterflies floating by and the path was lined with unicorns.  My frantic screaming put a halt to this reverie and he realized his presence was required else where.  He returned cutting across the middle of the rest area, but before I could clip the leash on him he turned his head, noticed the road again and was off with a click of his heels.  Repeat cycle. 

 

Needless to say he lost off leash privileges after that little escapade.  

1 1/2 years-  He decided to eat fungi on a back-packing trip.  The fungi was poisonous.  He was gravely ill and was cyanotic for weeks after.  Milk Thistle to the rescue.  Now when back-packing the dog has his own First Aid kit.  Sadly he feels the need to create situations so it can be used each trip.   It's a good thing it is well stocked.

 

5 yrs-  There is something  about  curved and "L" shaped roads that floats Gimli's boat.  He is attracted to them and for whatever reason feels the need to run full tilt when he sees this type of configuration.  Could he turn to the left and run down the non-traffic side. 

 

Noooooooooooo!

 

Where would the fun be in that.  No he always heads to the right to run across 4 lanes of a highly used street to stand on the other side.  When he notices that I am not following he runs back across.  Now as an observer your heart is in your mouth, your stomach is flipping and "S" and "F" words are coming out of your mouth involuntarily.  He has only done this twice but it is two times too many.  The last time the cars stopped and waited for him to cross.  Apparently his running high clouds his awareness of his environment,  as he ran directly into the side of a car that stopped to let him pass safely.   That was a "Du Oh" moment.   

 

7 yrs-  He decided he needed X-rays two months in a row.  He ate a stick of butter, an ice cream sundae, a steak, a bake-potato (foil and all) and a bar of soap.  Of concern was the fact that to the best of my knowledge the foil had not come out and he became sick.  X-rays revealed no foil present.  (Please note that this was at his Grandparents house-  He was under their supervision not mine)

The next month he decided to eat 2/3's of a bag of Cat in the Hat fridge magnets.  I wish I had the X-rays to post.   Very sparkly!!  (Again please note it was Grandma who left the bag of magnets on the ground.... not me)

He now has a reputation at the Vet.  As soon as I come in they ask.... "What has he eaten now?"

8 yrs-  During another back-packing trip, he decided he was a member of the flying Wallenda's and leaped off the top of a 6-foot rock only to land on his stomach on the edge of the rock that was 3-feet below it.  That contributed to a long night in the middle of the bush worrying that he might be bleeding internally.  Gimli of course decided to self-medicate and ate some hidden fungi (I think he was a truffle pig in a previous life as he can find fungi like no one's business).   Was the resulting twitching and night terrors a result of hallucinogenic mushrooms he ate or internal injuries?  I will never know.  All I know was it was a very, very long night for me and we both made it out safe and sound the next day. 

 

9yrs-  Last week was the kicker of all kickers when it comes to Gimli-capades.  I was going out of town for work so he had to stay at the kennel.  We arrived at the kennel just as a snow squall hit.  He likes the kennel and snow... so his transition into the paddocks was not an issue.  He was busy running around sniffing out remnants of pee-mail when we both realised at the same time.... the gate was not closed.  He beat me to the gate-  he is the dog version of the Flash.... was there really any hope that I, a mere human, would be able to beat him.   He ran out into the yard and that is when he spotted the "L"-shaped lane. 

 

Now you are probably thinking "Oh crap!!!!!".  I know I was. 

 

Before I even had "Gim" out of my mouth he was down the long lane and on the highway, running into on coming traffic.  By the time I made it to the end of the lane he was about 500- 700 metres down the highway on the opposite side. 

 

That is when two things happened.  He stopped and turned and I noticed the semi.  Now I could barely see him in the white-out conditions I hoped the Semi who was closer would be able to make out that he was there.  Before I could react,  Gimli darted across the road on his way back to me.  There were two tense filled seconds while I waited to see if he was fast enough to beat the Semi.  Thank the Lord he was.  Then there were some more angst filled moments while he kept pace with the Semi down the highway until he ended up in my arms and the confines of his collar. 

 

I definitely do not want to relive anything like that in the near future.  I still get the shakes thinking about it. 

 

Lessons you can learn from this post-  the power of prayer works,  gates are a gals best friend as long as they are closed, Gimli is like Mikey of commercial fame-  He'll eat anything and socks and fungi can be delicacies for dogs so beware.