Near Miss

Our modest suburban abode had several majestic Sycamore trees surrounding the house, both in the front yard and in the back. Along with the trees, and the cool shade they provided during the warmer months, there lived a family of squirrels. In fact, there was a large nest situated high up in the branches of our back yard Sycamore tree. After a little observation, and bearing witness to an overabundance of bolting infractions whenever a squirrel was near, it was easy to see that Hardy had a weakness for chasing squirrels. It was a recipe for my first dog training fiasco, which landed Hardy directly on the examination table of the veterinarian’s office.

I don’t know if it was in the make up of Mini-Schnauzer breeding, or the rodent scent, or the scurrying behavior of the furry little tail swishers. More likely it was all of the above. What I know about Hardy is he could never resist the scent of a squirrel in the vicinity. We all came to recognize this and learned quickly that if there was the scent of a squirrel anywhere within sniffing distance of that bearded little snout, Hardy would abandon anything he was doing to investigate. This was not a delicate course of action - not by a long shot. It was as if a screw went loose in his little doggie brain, and he could not focus on anything else except the hot and irrational pursuit of squirrel. His better attempts were elegant defeats, and the crazier ones became amusing and funny to watch, leaving me shaking my head in disbelief.

It was not funny or amusing on the day Hardy decided to leap out from the side gate towards a squirrel that was freely scampering around the side yard Sycamore tree. Thinking he would be bounding through the neighborhood, and because it was fast becoming a daily event, this particular squirrel pursuit caused me, once again, to respond by chasing Hardy in an effort to protect him from the oncoming car I saw coming towards us from up the street.

I doubt that he realized he had two of his most favorite games going on at once, as I played dogcatcher, and he chased after the resident squirrel. I am certain that he was not even thinking when he bound across the street as the car screeched it’s brakes to avoid hitting him. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him crawl out the underside of the car and nimbly cross the street, only to stop at the neighbor’s tree to sniff around for the scent of the squirrel.

As the driver pulled over, and we both began to walk across the street to check to see if Hardy was okay, he began bounding down the street, frantically. He was no longer interested in that squirrel. It had now become irrelevant, and a new game began as the driver and I made an attempt to catch him by joining his race down the block and away from home. Down the street we ran, picking up more helpers on the way, in our feeble attempt to reach him. I felt a little like Forest Gump as I kept running after my dog, gathering momentum, and finding myself leading a small crowd of followers some distance down the block and around the corner of our street. When I noticed that a driver had enticed my little escape artist to jump inside their slowly moving car.

“Is this your dog?” I didn’t recognize the young woman who had pulled her car to the side of the street.

I nodded my head, relieved.

“I think you should take him to the vet. He’s got a little scrape on his knee.”