RUNAWAY ROBERT

The craziest thing happened. Late night walk with the boys, we made it to the grassy spot and I was hoping to convince Oliver to poop and he decided it was play time. Usually a sign he needs to poop. Then playtime turned into chaos time with Robért getting tangled up and bowled over. There may even have been a yip or two.

I looked around, checked the coast was clear (no cars, no dogs) and dropped Robért's leash in an effort to untangle them and let him reciprocate without fear of injury -- physical or emotional. He cleared out off the grass, just looking for space I thought, then he took one look left… one look right… and bolted. And I mean bolted, right across the street on a furious sprint as fast as his ridiculously tiny legs would carry him. To where I knew not, but I chased a fast as I could, Oliver leading the hunt… and enjoying this new game.

The leash trailed the ground behind him, skipping and flicking over the bumps and cracks in the sidewalk. I sprinted in my slippers, not so much frantic as just stunned. He ran and ran and then taking as wide of an arc as a 5 pound pup needs to take, he curved towards our front stairs and bounced halfway up, turned and sat to look at me at eye level.

Though I have a strong memory of coming in the door panting with a story on my lips, not seconds later even as I was relaying the events to Tag, did I begin to doubt it even happened. Even though for the first few months of his life with us, he would regularly turn tail and run every at chance (initially still intact, we had figured his hormones were leading him astray)… we had since developed an off leash trust in him. He was a dawdler, a stroller, a marker, casually and slowly making his way through the park attending to nearly every blade of grass. He was no longer a bolt-er… or so we thought.

I had no idea what had sparked his momentary madness... pain, injury, fear... or maybe just a chance for the best game of chase ever. However scary and bewildering the whole experience, now we know to second guess our trust. Also we know that when he had the chance, he simply ran home. He knew his way, simple a path as it may have been, but he knew it undoubtedly and made his way there as fast as he could for any or all of the reasons unbeknownst to us. Maybe he is ours after all.