As a pet owner with special needs, not lost on me is the mess I’d be in if one or both my dogs got loose. My door is always locked and those who know me well don’t find that odd given marathon mutt’s proclivities.
The last time Mr. Digby escaped the Chez Rockwell compound, barely avoiding being struck by a vehicle, was back in 2007 just weeks after adoption. He lunged just hard enough on his tie-out line to break the collar he came with, running down the driveway hot on the tires of the truck belonging to the contractor supervising work being done on my home. Gary and Mr. Digby were new BFFs and part of their special routine was to go for walks as soon as Gary arrived each morning. Sometimes, Gary took him for a walk before leaving for the day.
Stopped at the end of the driveway waiting to turn out onto the road, Gary just happened to look out his sideview mirror and notice the tenacious one; after stopping the truck, he got out and very calmly walked around, knowing that Mr. Digby was a marathon man on four legs. Just as he reached down to scoop him up, the little rascal bolted across the road, but thankfully captured without further incident. The D-man was immediately collared in stylish leather featuring the MacInnis tartan. Yes, there’s a story about the collar.
Since his Houdini routine of 2007, Mr. Digby had not managed to make a run for it — until several days ago when I had a lapse in paying attention. One must never miss a beat when there’s a terrier in the house. Was it inevitable he’d try to go on a solitary walking tour, or rather a running tour? Would his advanced age stop him? I made the mistake of under-estimating his resolve.
On the day of his great escape, I had tethered Miss Lexie on her own but forgot to close the gate from the kitchen and Mr. Digby stepped into the laundry room to look out into the garage. I didn’t think he’d make a bold move with me right there. Wrong! He stepped into the garage and started walking towards the opening to the yard. I panicked but I didn’t want to spook him so I got down on my knees to crawl out to try to grab him. No go. He was getting further away, sauntering along. My crutches were out of reach, hanging on a wall inside the garage.
I then crawled back to the garage as I couldn't easily get up on my feet to walk without aids. With leash in hand, I got to my mobility scooter and switched it on, moving slowly down the driveway. Mr. Digby paused to look at me and then he started to run. 15 years old and he was on the move — the chase was on. I had hoped he’d come back to me since he did know about scooter walks and liked them. Wasn’t going to happen.
A good student of rural walks, he kept to the shoulder. I was calling 'help me' in case neighbours were out and would come to my aid. Thankfully, it was an early Saturday morning with little traffic, I continued to move in my housemate’s direction.
I managed to wave down an oncoming truck; the passenger got out and I continued to move along so I could pass him the leash. Mr. Digby was really running. I gave the guy a Tootsie Pop (a movie watching treat) I had in my robe pocket. Off he went, moving slowly towards the trotting terrier, a few times getting close to the wayward one. D wasn't falling for the 'bait n switch' at first. Finally, the elderly dog’s tongue came out to take a swipe at the sweet treat, just long enough for his saviour to grab him, leash him and hand him off to me. Off we went, headed home. In my panic, I failed to get the gentleman’s name, so if he is reading this tale of my obstreperous canine Olympian — “thank you for saving my dog!”.
Once back in the house, I looked down at my feet. Bloody socks! Dragging my lower body along when I went to ground to grab the dog did a bit of damage to the tops of my feet. I really should wear my bootie slippers when going out with them. The canine crew wasted no time ministering to my wounds, though I got no sticker for being a good patient. Before settling in to watch the news, I replaced the Tootsie pop I had to give up for he who has no clue he’s a d*g.
Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca
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