The most terrible thing just happened. Paul and his friend were going to Bob Evans for lunch, and just as Paul opened the door, Aisha bolted out. Our technique when Aisha escapes is to immediately leash Kobe and take him outside, because the moment Aisha sees him, she comes running back to bite his tender little ears. So, despite having just gotten out of the shower and being barefoot, I instantly leashed Kobe and dragged him down the stairs.
Upon reaching the ground level, I saw a frantic-looking Paul and realized that Aisha was much farther away than I had imagined. Kobe and I sprinted down the street, just in time to cross paths with the evil puppy. She then circled the parking lot multiple times, nearly getting hit by a minivan twice, while I screamed at her in hopes that she would be drawn back to certain punishment and fury. Surprisingly, I had little luck.
However, as she dashed by me for the third time, I noticed that she had something proudly displayed in her teeth. This object resembled a tennis ball in size and color, but was a bit flatter. She was moving too fast for me to make a certain identification.
She ran across and down the street, scraping hours off my life as she darted in and out of the road. I tried to keep up, but Kobe practically refused to run. Any other day of the week, he would be happy to sprint ahead of me, dragging me along, but today, when it was absolutely essential that he make haste, he lagged reluctantly. I’m fairly certain that if he could speak, he’d would have been saying, “What’s the rush? You win some you lose some. Can we go home now?”
The final straw was when he then stopped to poop. This is the same dog that can go DAYS without pooping; the same dog that takes hours to select the perfect real estate upon which to defecate; the same dog that will stop the process of pooping if he is interrupted by a stray gust of air. He chose the most dire moment to desist running and take a leisurely crap. When my desperation and frustration boiled over, I yanked his leash and began literally forcing him to run, until he pulled his head out of his collar and took off flying down the street towards Route 50.
It was at that point that I died. I did a mental calculation and decided that, if forced to choose, I would prefer to have Kobe, so chased after him. As he sprinted towards Route 50, he crossed paths with a gaggle of little girls on their bicycles. Being a dignified, rational individual, I screamed hysterically at them to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CATCH THAT FUCKING DOG! I was also crying, barefoot, and gasping for breath, in hopes of establishing my sanity. Only one little girl stopped to help, and, thanks to her, I was finally able to catch Kobe. I have nominated her for sainthood, and signed her up for a class called, “How to Spot and Avoid Dangerous Strangers”.
As I carried Kobe back home, I ran into Paul, who was carrying Aisha. After recounting the horror of the experience of losing both of our dogs, I paused to ask if he’d been able to identify what Aisha had been carrying.
“Well,” he began, “I think it was a biscuit. And I’m fairly certain that she ate the entire thing, and that the only reason I was able to catch her was because she had stopped to finish eating it.”
I cannot possibly understand why there was an entire biscuit in my apartment’s parking lot, but to the person who discarded the biscuit, thank you. Although you will probably be the cause of illness on my carpet later, you are also the reason I still have two Shiba Inus, as opposed to just one. Thanks.