I write this blog post whilst watching Anderson Cooper because I'm cultured. The first words I heard when turning on the television were "sex criminals unit" not applicable but alarming nonetheless. Anyway, so it's summer and I'm home from college and aside from being ignored by the majority of my high school friends (even though they assure me that we have to hang out soon every time they run into me), I've been quite bored. I don't really come from a family of doers; we're go getters for sure, but we like to chillax when time has allowed for it.
Alright I can't watch Anderson, they're talking about the Sandusky trial and it's far too horrible to comprehend and Anderson's not even anchoring: to Mean Girls.
Anyway so I decide to go for a run. Generally I cope with boredom with eating, many a Babybell Swiss cheese has been consumed on my break from college days, but I decided to be healthy instead. I had a bit of unused energy left in me for the day.
The majority of my jog was quite pleasant --
Oh wait, Cady Herron is having her epiphany. THE LIMIT DOES NOT EXIST!
-- sorry. My jog was pleasant, not once did I feel like I was going to pass out and die. I am fully convinced I am not made to run, but I did not feel terrible running. Pitbull was coursing through my iPod and my veins tonight! Then, I spot two dogs, one of which I had already seen a few streets over. I like dogs, I have two of them, but I know to be wary of dogs I don't know.. especially in the dark when they may feel threatened. So, I slow to a walk and extend my hand out in a gesture of good faith. One dog comes over to smell me and walks away, placated, while the other runs down the street. Fine, be that way asshole.
I continue on my run, even crossing the street so I don't run into the dog who was barking at me again. I may continue my run in peace. --
Cady just broke the crown; she's an inspiration.
Sorry again. I did not continue my run in peace, though, for the dog began barking at me again and ran out into the road to continue barking at me when I acted like it wasn't there. Cool. I was raised by dog lovers, I am a dog lover. I could not in good conscience leave this dog in the middle of the road. Cars were already coming and, thankfully, slowing but I couldn't leave this dog. I bend my knees and call for it, it just barks at me, not moving. Awesome. I do not give up even though the people in the cars are looking at me like, "Go get your dog you idiot." I mentally tell them it's not my dog...okay I said it aloud to no one as I swore repeatedly, still calling to the dog as brightly as I could. A whole host of emotions were no doubt playing across my face at any given moment during this trying time.
I watch this dog nearly get hit by a black SUV and think great, now I'm responsible for the eventual death of this dog that I feared was going to bite me only seconds ago. Though, I did throw a curse word ---
Oh hold on, a Magic Mike trailer. DANCE Matthew!
--back. I threw some curse words at the SUV for not stopping soon enough and may have even opened my arms in the universal sign for "what the fuck?" I still can't get this dog to come to me. You know, the thing is I want this dog to come to me so I can return it to safety, but I am also terrified of having this dog come to me because I fear it will bite me. I am a very, very torn woman.
Finally, I myself go into the road to see if I can meet the dog in the middle ground...you know the middle of the fucking road. The dog however retreats to the other side of the road, barking the entire time. I am placated, he is no longer in the middle of the road, and now I can leave him. He won't come near my anyway. So I begin my run again, rejuvenated slightly by this stressful break.
The dog runs out into the road again, barking. Fuck. I can't leave this dog there can I? Of course not. I wish that I had my phone with me to call my mom so that maybe the both of us could coral the animal, she is better with difficult dogs than I am. Alas, I have only me and my iPod.
"CHEWBACCA!" I hear yelled from the Red White and Blue house across the street. I kid you not, there is a home on the street where I live, have lived since I was four years old, that has been painted Cobalt blue, with the truest red woodwork and little white stars on the front until just a few weeks ago. It's infamous in our little hamlet and for years I've had to admit that I lived jut across the street from it. Anyway, I digress. A child emerges from the formally Red White and Blue house, and I ask him amidst the barking, "is this your dog?"
The child answers not and I'm annoyed and almost tell him snottily that I've seen this dog all over town; it has even shat in my yard, and now it almost got hit by a car. I hold my tongue, however, worried that he will say something vile or cruel in response. These are not good people these Red White and Blue people; they hang their delicates on lines outside their home.
"Come Chewbacca," says the boy, ignoring my previous question. The dog promptly ran away from him, and I watched it, marveling that this fucking dog's name is Chewbacca. "I have a sandwich," the boy calls. Chewbacca wants none of it. He waits around the corner for the child to turn before coming to bark and growl at me.
Eventually, he corralled the dog with his sandwich and brought him home, and I half sprinted home, fired up with anger that these people failed to take care of their dog. I thought about calling them once I'd gotten home but figured they might tell me to go fuck myself and thought better of it. Instead, I told my parents I was almost ravaged by this dog and vented about irresponsible dog owners before telling my own dog that she was a good girl.
This is what I get for running!