My Rat Terrier Sonny: To Leash Or Not To Leash

            Having had a very frightening and unnerving experience two days ago that in no way could be construed to benefit my Rat Terrier, I have been loathe to take Sonny off his leash even for a minute.  On Saturday, as we were walking along the bicycle path that caresses our deck and leads us into glorious and mysterious places with myriad smells and the occasional gourmet delight tossed haphazardly into the surrounding greenery, I made the mistake of trusting in Sonny’s sense of right and wrong.  Actually, there is never anything incorrect in an animal’s sense of right and wrong, it’s just that we insist that they view the world, and therefore react to it, as we do.  I suppose that if I’d had Sonny trained properly he would acquiesce to my expectations but not having done that, I am, therefore, at the mercy of his animalistic whims.  Saturday’s whim was a doozy!  Having reached the two ponds that book-end the path lest it should stray from its pre-planned route, I noticed that there were no people, stray animals or littered remnants of fast food consumption anywhere in sight.  The quick yet erroneous conclusion that Sonny would be able to romp freely and safely, thus getting more of his much needed exercise, prompted me to take him off his leash.  It took but a fraction of a second for the little mongrel to hit his nitrous switch and tear off into the distance leaving bits of flame in his wake.  The glorious path suddenly turned into the bowels of hell.

            My shrill screams of, “Come back here!” turned into pleading yet angry bursts of , “Sonny!” as he disappeared around the corner of some distant townhouses.  After waiting for a total of three whole seconds, I started working my way over the field to the nearest edge of the line of homes so that I could head him off as he ran around the complex.  As I turned the corner onto the road expecting to see Sonny frolicking with some new-found friend, I swear I heard the theme song to the Twilight Zone.  Nothing.  In front of me was an empty street with only one open garage door.  Listening intently for any sound that could be attributed to a stubborn Rat Terrier (and there are many), I walked towards the solitary open door only to find an old man puttering with some power tools.  I debated whether to possible waste some precious minutes asking the man if he’d seen my beautiful, fat, little dog but decided to search the banks of the pond instead.  As I turned away, horrible thoughts of the man having dog-napped Sonny and preparing to dismember him with his power tools crept into my ridiculously fertile and warped mind.  Mental note:  stop watching horror movies!

            The fairly steep bank of the pond did not fill me with optimism.  Since my invasion by arthritis in ’95, I have been anything but steady on unsteady planes.  On the left, the bank rose right up to the townhouse that I had seen Sonny run around minutes before, on the right, the bank tumbled down at a 60º gradient to the muddy remains of the pond after several months of drought.  Taking precarious steps while visually searching the area and vocally expressing my displeasure with the situation, Sonny and the world in general, I finally reached a more horizontal area of the bank where I feared less for my physical integrity.  With no Sonny in sight, the reality of the situation and its ramifications began to invade my conscious mind.  I experienced that horrid sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and that nervous, semi-nauseous wave that comes over you when inevitability starts to set in.  Sonny was lost and he was not coming back.  My mind raced with the what-to-dos; put up signs, call the local papers, send out a search party, stop the world so I could find my dog!   I began to imagine my life without him, to wonder if he was in pain or if he would suffer, if someone might take him in and take care of him better than we ever could, if I would ever see him again.  The tears threatened to come; the guilt washed over me, the despair began to embrace me.  I looked up as the clouds opened up and the sky cried with sympathetic grief.  Standing there on the bicycle path, soaked and miserable, wallowing in remorse I looked towards that villainous spot where my Sonny had disappeared.  And there he was.  My little bundle of furry fat was trotting happily towards me, jumping here and there over taller tufts of grass after his exploratory mission to who knows where had concluded. 

            I could almost taste the mixture of relief, anger, elation and love.  Without any hesitancy or obvious signs of guilt at doing something wrong, he ran up to me in his usual, “I think it’s time for a treat” manner.  Hooking the leash to his collar in one faster-than-the-speed-of-light movement, I half-heartedly smacked his bottom and said, “Bad dog!” while hugging and kissing him fiercely (talk about mixed messages!).  We continued our walk as the whole ordeal had only taken about ten minutes and we both needed our exercise but at no time was Sonny more than five feet away from me.  To be truthful, if I could have, I would have carried him.  And even though I know I got carried away - a little bit - I haven’t let him go off-leash since then……maybe next week.

          To read more about Sonny, please visit My Rat Terrier Sonny where you can also download your free copy of the Long Life Dog Book.  To see pictures of Rat Terriers and find out more about them, please visit Rat Terrier Life Span and  for information on keeping your best friend trim, take a look at Dog Weight Problems.