Max, like our old dog Misty, loved to escape from our house and take himself for a hike or visit people. Most of the time we lived with Max our home was in Old Town, Park City which is filled with condos and homes boxed in by mountains with a lot of trails for running and mountain biking. One summer afternoon my husband was struggling to fit a bassinet for our baby in the door and sure enough, Max ran through his legs. I hollered, "you take the baby, I'll get Max" as I ran out the back door. I searched for quite a while with no luck and then saw wet pawprints leading from a hot tub down the street. A clue!
I raced after the pawprints only to see a dripping wet Golden Retriever racing down a set of stairs, and onto someone's porch. Trapped! Ha! Or so I thought until I saw him disappear through the front door and into their house. I ran down the stairs skipping every other one only to see a dripping wet dog leap onto the couch in the living room and just as I'm shouting, "No Max, No, Down! Bad Dog!", he shakes his wet fur everywhere like something out of a Disney movie. I lunge for him, while apologizing to the homeowner up, down and sideways, and grab his collar. I tell the homeowner I will be back to help clean up and we leave. Just as we get to the door I lose my grip on his wet collar and off he bolts, because now it's a game.
I called for him, then chased him but he disappeared. I even searched the hot tubs in the area to no avail. I headed home to get the car and drove around looking for him but no sign of Max. I called our local radio station to see if anyone had seen Max and they made an announcement. Just as I hung up the phone, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. "Oh Max!", I thought. The caller said, "Um, hey, uh, I think I got yer dog here. Yeah, um do you like own a big kinda dog, like a yeller color. Yer number was on his collar and uh, HEY, HEY, STOP DRINKING MY BEER, HEY, YOU GET OUT OF THERE YA STUPID DOG. HEY! He just drank my beer. And yeah, yer dog is drinkin my beer so can you come n get him?"
That would not be the last beer or burger or steak that Max would steal and it wasn't the last time he ran away either.
If you have a mischievous Max you'd like to celebrate in your life, check out our Golden Retriever tees and tote bags at Chatham Ivy.
I raced after the pawprints only to see a dripping wet Golden Retriever racing down a set of stairs, and onto someone's porch. Trapped! Ha! Or so I thought until I saw him disappear through the front door and into their house. I ran down the stairs skipping every other one only to see a dripping wet dog leap onto the couch in the living room and just as I'm shouting, "No Max, No, Down! Bad Dog!", he shakes his wet fur everywhere like something out of a Disney movie. I lunge for him, while apologizing to the homeowner up, down and sideways, and grab his collar. I tell the homeowner I will be back to help clean up and we leave. Just as we get to the door I lose my grip on his wet collar and off he bolts, because now it's a game.
I called for him, then chased him but he disappeared. I even searched the hot tubs in the area to no avail. I headed home to get the car and drove around looking for him but no sign of Max. I called our local radio station to see if anyone had seen Max and they made an announcement. Just as I hung up the phone, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. "Oh Max!", I thought. The caller said, "Um, hey, uh, I think I got yer dog here. Yeah, um do you like own a big kinda dog, like a yeller color. Yer number was on his collar and uh, HEY, HEY, STOP DRINKING MY BEER, HEY, YOU GET OUT OF THERE YA STUPID DOG. HEY! He just drank my beer. And yeah, yer dog is drinkin my beer so can you come n get him?"
That would not be the last beer or burger or steak that Max would steal and it wasn't the last time he ran away either.
If you have a mischievous Max you'd like to celebrate in your life, check out our Golden Retriever tees and tote bags at Chatham Ivy.
No comments:
Post a Comment