Before I devolve into a rant towards the lesser of our two canines, let me say a little bit about the relationship between Auxiliary Dog and the other members of our household. First of all, when I describe him as “lesser,” I mean that in every conceivable sense: Auxiliary Dog is smaller (seven pounds sopping wet), yappier, more subservient, and in most respects more of a non-entity than not only Beagle, but also Cat. Yes, despite my borderline loathing for Cat, and my relatively easy-going tolerance of Auxiliary Dog, I must note that Cat makes a better dog in many respects than Auxiliary Dog, and certainly maintains a position above Auxiliary Dog in the four-legged hierarchy of our house. This is not up to me. The animals establish their own order, and Auxiliary Dog comes in just above the frog-shaped chew toy.
Auxiliary Dog is kind of a chicken. He barks at shadows, knocks at the door, complete silence, and anything that begins with the letter “Q.” He shakes incessantly when there is thunder two counties over. And when we visit the vet. And for three days after leaving the vet. He hides under beds (precisely in the middle of the bed, of course) from the deadly threat of bed-time. He also gives up any toy immediately upon being challenged for it by Beagle. (Ironically, he will fiercely battle my parent’s 80 pound black lab for any toy within reach, and sometimes wins. I am convinced this is because the lab has better stuff to do than eat Auxiliary Dog). He will take any indignity inflicted on him (squirrel costumes included) with quiet complacency. His normal response to being yelled at or scolded is to skulk a few feet away and roll onto his back.
This description of Auxiliary Dog’s “normal” behavior might help explain why it was so out of character for him to bolt out of our front door a few days ago, and run full-tilt (nearly getting creamed by an SUV in the process) four block to the community pool where he promptly watered the shrubs and waited for my out-of-shape a** to catch him.
I have no idea why he did this. It accomplished nothing other than to point out to me how very long it has been since my last 5K event. Okay, only 5K event. It pissed me off, and not much else.
It did however, remind me of his last out-of-character escapade, from which we get our post title for today. This is not the first time Auxiliary Dog has made with the adventurous side, which may be a clue to some deep-seeded longing, or borderline personality disorder. Either way, his little jaunts make for good stories.
The missus and I used to live in a small downtown apartment, along with Auxiliary Dog, Beagle, and Cat. This was a fourth floor apartment, so our morning, midday, and evening routine was to leash up the dogs, hop on the elevator, and take them up and down the pet walk until they got back to nature. That’s really neither here nor there, but I thought you should know that my pets were very regular.
Anyhoo, at the same time we were living in these fairly cozy quarters, I was moonlighting as an instructor for a test-prep company a few blocks away. One night I was teaching a class and my cell phone, which I had neglected to turn off, started buzzing. I checked the number (unprofessional, I know, but shut up - this is my story) and saw that it was unfamiliar to me. I sent it to voice mail and put the phone back in my pocket. This happened twice more, immediately afterward. The third time I checked my phone, one of my students smartly offered, “maybe you should answer it.” I excused myself and answered with a surly, “Hello?”
A female voice I’d never heard before said “Hi. Do you have a dog named Auxiliary Dog?”
Pause. “Umm, yes?” I did in fact make this statement with a question mark on the end.
“I found him wandering around the lobby of Park Circle Apartments. Do you live here?”
Pause. “Oh. Oh, um, yes. Yes I do...”
Apparently, the door to our apartment was not shut completely when the dogs were brought back in from their evening constitutional. Auxiliary Dog must have squeezed out, and Beagle, being ever so helpful, shut the door completely behind him. Left to his own devices, he wandered the fourth floor hallway, and hopped the elevator when someone either got on or off on our floor. He made his way to the lobby, where he undoubtedly was waiting for someone to open the door so he could sprint to the pet walk and make sweet, sweet marking over inch of the curb.
My favorite part of this escapade though is imagining him getting on and off the elevator, because at least one person had to have seen him for this adventure to be accomplished. In my imagination, one of the incredibly awkward engineering grad students who shared our building comes out of his apartment on the fourth floor and sees Auxiliary Dog sitting next to the elevator and staring at Grad Student expectantly. Grad Student stops cold. He considers his options. He pushes the call button. Auxiliary Dog wags. The elevator doors open. Auxiliary Dog gets on. Grad Student stares, has an inner monologue, shakes his head and steps on. Grad Student presses “1” and he and Auxiliary Dog awkwardly avoid eye contact. The elevator lowers, the doors open, and Grad Student scurries away as fast as is humanly possible.
We were fortunate that Auxiliary Dog was found by a kind stranger who actually called the contact number on his ID tag. This was fairly out of character for him but he clearly hasn’t lost his taste for adventure, as evidenced by his recent escape attempt. I am certain that Auxiliary Dog will one day escape our yard and live on in legend, and in postcards from strange foreign lands filled with stories of a very small, very odd looking dog who patiently waits for strangers to press elevator call buttons. If he wants to live to make that day a reality, he had better stop making me chase him.
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