Dog Eat Dog

My camera and computer are not on speaking terms right now. For some unknown reason my computer is refusing the read my camera. I've installed every driver I can think of and still nothing. So - needless to say - hair pictures are still delayed. Once finals are over (one week from today! Eek!) my computer and I are going to have a heart to heart.

In other news - I have been running lately. It started as a way to help with some stressful situations in my life. It also was because I realized that in high school I could run three miles in thirty minutes, easy, and that I was pretty sure I couldn't do that anymore. Regardless of my rather rigorous biking routine, my running endurance was seriously lacking. So over the past three weeks I've been building to three miles and have recently attained the goal. Is it in thirty minutes? No. Not even close. But that is the next goal (Don't judge me and my pathetically short distances, SJ).

There is more to this story.

I went running yesterday. In the last half a mile of my run, going up the biggest hill of my route, a big black dog comes out of nowhere! Said pooch starts jumping up on my, licking my face and awkwardly getting in the way of my stride. The dog was about seventy pounds (more than half-my weight) and looked to be a lab mix. I just kept running. And the dog followed, occasionally jumping up and slobbering all over me. The dog, which I named Charlie, followed me all the way back to my apartment.

Once I arrived there, I looked at the dog's collar to find absolutely no tags. Awesome.

Part of me wanted to just go into my apartment, shut the door, and leave Charlie to his own devices, but I knew I couldn't do that. He'd followed me near a 1/2 a mile from what I assumed was his 'hood, I was at least obligated to get him back to that area. Plus I also knew I couldn't keep him. Judging by his paws and his head, this dog was no where near full grown (I'm guessing he was about 8 months old) and there was no way I could keep a puppy with my schedule. Plus - he belonged to someone. Not to mention I definitely have a no-pet clause in my lease. A potentially 100 lbs dog would be hard to hide.

So I made a leash out of one of my belts, and in my full sweaty glory, stuck Charlie in my Jeep. We drove back to where he found me, me trying to keep my cool, and he slobbering like crazy. Thus ensued the next hour of knocking on doors and asking if anyone knew Charlie and praying that no one who answered the door would be a creepy serial killer. It was frustrating and exhausting. The people who actually did answer the door were all sincerely sorry that they didn't know Charlie, but all that told me was perhaps this wasn't even Charlie's 'hood. After all - he'd followed me a 1/2 a mile. How far had he traversed before then?

Just as I was about to give up I knocked on the door of a person I knew to have a pesky little dachshund that barked at me every time I ran (I pretend he is cheering me on). An adorable older lady named Georgia answered the door with a flyswatter in hand (which she used to keep her Dachshund, Max, back from the door). Turns out it was her neighbor's dog, but they had just gone to pick up their kids from school. So I thank her and camp out in my car, assuming a quick return.

45 minutes later - they are not back from school and I am getting a little upset. There is a HUGE black dog drooling non-stop on my backseat, licking my ear every chance he gets, and I am in serious need of a shower. Not to mention the laundry that isn't getting done, the finals for which I am not studying, and the dishwasher that needs to be unloaded all because I am sitting in my Jeep waiting for these people. So I went back to my apartment, but left a note on their door which said:

I have your dog.
My name is Leah.
(myp)hon-enum

(because that note doesn't sound like I kidnapped their dog, right?)

A half and hour after getting back to my apartment (which was a whole different adventure) I get a call from the owner, Jeff. Charlie and I load back up in my Jeep, and drive over to their house. Jeff is waiting outside. When I give him back Charlie (whose real name turned out to be Black. Because Charlie was Black. Lamest dog name ever.) I told him that he should invest in getting tags for his canine because most people wouldn't do what I did. That is when Jeff informed me that he had tags in the house, and had them for a long time, but he never had bothered to put them on Black's collar. Also - that this was the third time in the past month that he had gotten loose.

I can't even begin to tell you how upset I was, but lecturing this man wasn't my job. So instead I simply told him that if Black decided to join me for a run again I would simply take him to the Humane Society and he could figure it out from there.

Seriously. Some people just aren't responsible enough for pets.