Do
things come in threes?
Yesterday,
Chase and I arrived at the Concord BART station, ready for our usual peaceful walk
home. It’s about three and a half
blocks. We walked on Oakland Avenue,
past the entrance to the parking garage.
Inside the garage is a BART police substation. Inside the substation was a police car.
Inside the police car was a police dog.
Inside the dog was a very big bark that came out as we came near the
entrance. Apparently the police dog was
issuing a warning citation to someone walking by.
As
we stood at the curb to the driveway leading in and out of the garage, Chase’s
head swung toward the direction of the bark and stuck there. He could not hear anything except that
bark. I said, “Forward.” He heard, “Bark.” Finally, I gave a tug on his leash and
convinced him to cross the driveway and continue down the sidewalk. He walked about one and a half times normal
speed, as if he just wanted to get out of there. The whole time, his head turned left as he
kept both eyes on the garage and listened to that bark.
We
crossed the street and headed for home.
He was still wound a little tight.
We walked next to a big parking lot where vehicles park diagonally, some
with their noses up against the sidewalk.
As we passed a truck, it started up, startling Chase. He picked up even more speed. His spring was wound even tighter.
So
I took him by the leash, had him heel, and walked him about ten feet from the
corner. I had him sit and went to the
Labrador retriever pacifier -- comfort kibble.
I fed him out of the treat bag on my waist for a few minutes (a bonus
for a dog that gets his rewards one kibble bit at a time.) It seemed to calm him down.
But
he still had his usual urgency on the last block up to our front door. I thought I heard him say, “There’s no place
like home,” and click his red tennis shoes together.
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