For Mature Audiences only: a rabbit, two dogs and me not paying attention… What could go wrong?
I remember groaning. I was face down on the asphalt with two dogs looking at me curiously.
Some context. One of my high school friends told me he wakes up every morning thinking he's still eighteen. Then he puts his feet on the floor, and immediately realizes he's old.
Lying there, I had the same realization. In my imagination, I was a young guy, but in reality, I was in my mid-seventies with a lot of the baggage that that entails.
Another title for this essay is "You need to see the rabbit before your dogs do."
We were in the last ten minutes of our morning walk, wandering back and forth across the road. My mind was definitely elsewhere. I daydream a lot (the Nuns confirmed this in fifth grade).
Suddenly, a rabbit bolted out of the bush, and Maisie, our Chihuahua-terrier, commander of the house, gave immediate chase. No problem, I had a tight grip on her leash. What I didn't anticipate was that Toby, our Great Pyrenees and lord and protector of our house, would choose to sprint around me to get at the rabbit. He wrapped the leash around my legs, and like a good tackle in football, I went flying in the air and landed "Bam!" on Maisie, who yelped. She scooted out from underneath me, and I slumped to the asphalt: Humiliated and bleeding.
This was the second time I had fallen this year. The first was stepping onto a dock from a boat in front of that most terrifying demographic: teenage girls. Nothing makes you feel old like being judged by adolescents.
Anyway, both dogs sat next to me. The rabbit was long gone, and they were no doubt wondering why I was "resting" on the road. I slowly got up. My right arm was road-rashed and bleeding, so I wouldn't be able to deny that I fell to the women of our household.
I had fallen victim to the "it could never happen to me" syndrome. It's related to the belief that seventeen-year-olds have that they are immortal. It was especially embarrassing to me because, as a firefighter, we constantly responded to senior individuals who had fallen and broken their hips. Once, we responded to an eighty-year-old woman who had fallen through the tin roof of her shed. When we asked what she was doing on the roof, she answered that she was chasing her pet peacock that had escaped from his pen.
Humbled by all this, I have come up with some new guidelines for walking our dogs (Stubbornly, I don't plan on quitting the best part of the day)
First and most important is no daydreaming! We need to pay attention and be situationally aware. We need to see the rabbit before the dogs do! Second, be mindful of how you hold the leash. When it's wrapped around your wrist, you are at the mercy of your dog: If she sprints ahead, you will be dragged. It's a trade-off between controlling your canine or being able to let go of the leash and not fall. I do prefer the firefighter version that boils down to "if you go, I go." I wrap a leash around my wrist. Thus, the road rash.
Next, always bring your phone. My iPhone immediately asked if I had fallen and if I should call 911. I declined, but it's nice to know you can call for help if you need it.
Then there are the hazards that you could ignore when you were young but can't when you're an "Olderling" (my seven-year-old granddaughter's word for folks over sixty). My big three: First, ice on the path or road (now that winter is fast approaching). It's best to go around or go back. Not worth the risk. Next is a steep downhill pitch. If a dog starts to pull you downhill, well, bad things can happen. Finally, other dogs. Most dogs, except the well-trained golden retrievers on our road, are going to react to other dogs: tugging, barking, pulling against you. Have a strategy. We usually pull into a driveway or go into the bush to avoid dog-dog encounters.
My goal is to walk our dogs until I physically can't anymore (way, way in the future). Barring another rabbit encounter or falling through a tin roof, with a few more rules, I will continue to enjoy the best part of the day.