Life With Newman 27 - The Great Escape

[calgarygirl]

LIFE WITH NEWMAN – THE GREAT ESCAPE

I consider myself a very conscientious dog owner, almost to the point of paranoia. I could never forgive myself if something happened to Newman that I could have prevented, much in the same way that Paris Hilton would be hysterical if Tinkerbell didn't match her current eyeshadow and lip gloss. Newman is therefore tattooed and microchipped, he's licensed with the city, he wears an E-tag that has 27 lines of text in it, he wears an avalanche homing beacon and a satellite tracking device on his AuroraLites fluorescent safety collar. I drew the line at having his retina scanned and registering his paw print with the FBI, only because Dave threatened to have me registered with the Alberta Divorce Courts. So imagine my horror when Newman escaped from his dog run last weekend and I couldn't find him.

We have been in our new home now for five months and because we moved in in November, we still don't have fencing, sod, a permanent dog run, trees, bushes, a visible house number, sidewalks – hell, I am Laura Ingalls-Wilder blazing a path to my front door. Dave constructed a temporary run out of metal poles and snow fence, threw some pea gravel down and Newman instantly had a glorified outdoor litter box. He has hated this dog run from day one and demonstrated in no uncertain terms that the new Berber carpeting in the bonus room would be fertilized until something cool, tall and green was laid down in his pen. I offered to bring him a Margarita, but tequila makes him loud and obnoxious.

Dave and I were downstairs last Saturday night watching "Shark Tale" on the big screen TV (which will accurately explain why we have the "President and First Lady of Dorkville" title from our friends), when Newman requested to go outside. I dragged myself out from under the Bugs Bunny comforter (the last vestige of Dave's bachelorhood that I allow in the house) and let him out in the pen. Back downstairs I went to watch Will Smith impersonating a fish, impersonating a rapper, impersonating a hero and Robert DeNiro going one step further in his decline as a respected actor. Perhaps in his next incarnation he will play a redeemed thespian who buys back his soul from the devil with his American Express card. In any event, it was quite some time before we thought of Newman again because Angelina Jolie really DOES make an attractive fish and we were hooked. When I remembered my absent pup, I jogged upstairs to let him in and when I opened the door to his pen, I was greeted by an emptiness bigger than Brad and Jennifer's mansion. There is a fear that one experiences, which will trigger an actual, physical reaction that is hard to put into words. Your chest tightens like Cher's face and you feel tangible little pin*****s in your scalp. Your body starts to tremble and all of a sudden you have no control over your hands. There is a more common term to describe this reaction and one that aptly describes mine. It's called FREAKING OUT.

I raced back into the house and yelled something at Dave from the top of the stairs that sounded like "NEWMANGOTOUTOFHISPENANDIDON'TKNOWWHEREHEISGETYOUR SHOESONANDHELPMELOOKFORHIM!!!!" Dave, never one to panic and trying to keep me calm, sauntered up the stairs and said "but René Zellweger just found out that Will Smith has been hiding Jack Black in the storage room". Dave got his shoes pretty quick alright, because I threw them at his head. I went out back and Dave went out front to try and locate Houdini and I would later be told by our neighbours that my voice sounded like any screaming teenager in "Nightmare on Elm Street". The first place I looked for Newman was the neighbour's back step because that's where they keep their dog's food dish. When we have let Newman go play with Kiska, he always tries to "woo" her by impressing her with his speed of digestion. However, this particular evening he was not dining alfresco. Next I checked the houses under construction on the ridge because that is sometimes where we throw Newman's ball for him. I thought he may have finally remembered to go fetch something that we threw a week ago, but that was optimistic. It is at this point that I will remind you that Newman is a CHOCOLATE lab and it was about 10:00 p.m., so it was like trying to find a zebra among NFL referees. I don't know what Dave was doing this entire time, but I'm speculating that he sat on the front porch and simply said "Newwwwman….here buddy, come here bud" while I prayed to every God available to mankind to keep my dog out of harm's way. We also don't keep a collar on Newman while we're at home, so I couldn’t hear the familiar jangling of his tags that usually annoy the heck out of me, but at that moment would have sounded like the blissful noise I make when there's a 2-for-1 sale at BCBG MaxAzria.

While I was heading back into the house to call the Hawc-1 helicopter that our police service uses to track fleeing criminals with an infra-red spotlight, Dave yelled out "Newman, wanna treat?" and my beloved canine materialized out of the dark like a scantily-clad showgirl in David Copperfield's show. Now, I don't want to say that I puddled at Newman's feet and let out a wail like Elizabeth Smart's mom, but I now have to fulfill a promise of going to church for a year, giving blood monthly, reading to the elderly and performing some sort of Hindu ritual sacrifice for that particular deity.

By the description of this traumatic episode, you would think that it lasted for as long as it takes to explain the four basic food groups to Mary-Kate and Ashley, when in reality it was a mere three minutes and 37 seconds, give or take an eternity. Although his whereabouts for that time will remain a mystery, I explained to Newman that, while I appreciate his natural instinct to roam à la Charlie Sheen, it was important to stick close to home for his own safety. Judy Garland did not make an entire movie to end it with "there's no place like being loose in the neighbourhood" for a very good reason.

Dee Clair
Calgary, Alberta

This story is dedicated to the memory of Wally, who found his way home on March 2, 2005. I miss you, my little bear.

[Barb]

Another classic, Dee! I could feel your panic and hear your screeces. So glad you found religion in those 3 minutes and 37 seconds.

Last but not least, so sorry to hear about Wally going to the bridge. May he rest in peace.

[d2roberts]

OMG! Once again, hilarious. How you managed to make this life altering event into a great humorous story, is beyond me.

I'm so glad you found Newman. I would have freaked too....

[Averysmom]

OMG Dee!!! I laugh so hard at your stories!!! I think at some point I promised to go to church every Sunday too but....well, you know!

[Ang]

LOL!!! still not over Dave's looney tunes comforter.....I assume for the "writing the story" reasons, it's the first I've heard of Newman's escape??? LOL great story!

[Mocha1]

As always, hysterical!! I love reading these stories!

[lovefor4labs]

Great story! Thank you for making me laugh!!

[Jen B.]

Dee, you are missing your calling as a writer!! I can feel every emotion you're going through when reading this. So glad Houdini appeared <g>.

When we first adopted Jordan, I came home from work one day and he was gone. Murphy, the big yellow Lab next door, had dug Jordan out of our yard. There was a message on my answering machine from Murphy's Mom saying that they had Jordan. I can empathise with your panic!

[Chocaholic]

YAY!! Another Newman story! Glad he made it back safe and sound....You have such a knack for storytelling, Dee! Loved it!

[jackyscott]

OMG Dee - I was in a panic just reading..... Glad Newman got back safe and sound.

[kmacal1]

:

Fabulous, Dee!

[20Paws]

Once again Dee, GREAT story!

[JenQuinn]

Stories of Newman make my day. Awesome.

[Jen]

Dee, I always enjoy your new Newman stories!

[Poochmom]

Oh, that mischevious young lad Newman. I swear that Labs have selective hearing. "Treat" always works for my pooches too! Glad he made it home safe and sound. The thought of losing them definitely can give us the worst anxiety attack...

I had a similar experience with my cat after we first moved out here to wild edges of suburbia... I had been in bed for about an hour when I realized that I hadn't seen my recently banned-to-the-indoors-forever kitty. I sat straight up in bed and woke Ken with a "Omigod where's Feisty?!!!". I searched the whole house top to bottom and when I couldn't locate the cat I made Ken get up and get dressed and help me search outside. (By this time I had remembered that we had left the back door open while going in and out to view Mars through the telescope - so I just knew the cat had escaped). So there we were roaming the neighborhood around 1 a.m. with flashlights trying to hunt up a cat. I was just waiting for someone to call the cops thinking we were robbers. After an hour or so of searching, we went home to wait (it was freezing outside!). Ken immediately went back to sleep, but I just couldn't as I kept imagining an owl scooping my baby up and carrying him away. But sure enough, about 4 a.m. I went down to see if Feisty had come home and there he was... sauntering up the stairs to the deck like it was no big deal.

Sheesh. The drama these animals put us through!!!