It was supposed to be a peaceful walk. Just me, the leash, and our dog who is usually more focused on sniffing blades of grass than chasing squirrels. I was wearing my comfy walking shoes, sipping my coffee, and mentally preparing for the rest of my day. Then, with the stealth of a ninja and the determination of a toddler avoiding bedtime, our dog slipped right out of her leash.
I do not even know how it happened. One second she was trotting beside me like the well-trained pup she occasionally pretends to be. The next second she was a blur of fur and freedom, sprinting across the park with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea where they were going.
I tried calling her name in my sweet mom voice. Nothing. I tried yelling it like a referee at a middle school dodgeball game. Still nothing. Meanwhile, she was having the time of her life, greeting strangers, rolling in questionable patches of grass, and pretending she did not know me.
Eventually, she slowed down enough for me to lure her back with a treat. She looked at me like she had just returned from a soul-searching adventure and was mildly disappointed to be back on a leash. I looked at her like I was rethinking every decision that led me to this moment.
We got home and she flopped down like she had just completed a marathon. My coffee was cold. My pride was bruised. But my dog? She was smugly satisfied, probably plotting her next great escape.
Lesson learned. Next time, I am wearing running shoes. And maybe bringing snacks for both of us. Just in case.
