Once upon a time, some twenty-odd years ago, we were looking for a rescue dog when we came across this flyer:
ENERGETIC 9 MONTH OLD LAB NEEDS A GOOD HOME; GREAT WITH KIDS; NAME: BISCUIT.
The description along with a photo of a beautiful black Lab prompted me to call and see if the dog was still available. The owner assured me that he was so I went that evening to see about adopting him not knowing that the word “energetic” would later prove to be an understatement.
It turned out that the owner had been caring for Biscuit since a friend could no longer keep him. She explained that Biscuit had been living in a car for several months prior. I couldn’t imagine this 70 lb. dog living in a car or even a bus for that matter, so I decided to take him home that night. I was so excited about our new dog that I barely noticed the owner’s overwhelming sense of relief as she quickly handed me his leash and tennis ball while ushering me out the front door. From the porch, she gave me a quick wave good-bye and then hastily darted inside, shut the door and turned out the lights.
I arrived home early that evening with Biscuit. After some discussion and a few protests from our 3 year old we renamed him Duke. This was on a Thursday night. Thursday night happened to be grocery night at our house and typically the entire family went together. This left us in somewhat of a quandary as to what we should do with our new dog. We certainly didn’t have a crate large enough for him yet and the idea of leaving him home alone was less than appealing. At last, we decided we would take him along with us to the grocery. We decided that if he were to cause any damage that the car would be a better place than our house. Besides, we reasoned, he had been living in a car for quite some time already and would probably be very comfortable there.
Once inside the grocery store, we shopped as quickly as we could. The entire time we were wondering if we would still have a steering wheel when we got back to the minivan. Visions of shredded seats filled my head as we approached the van with our load of groceries and children in tow. Amazingly enough, the van was completely intact and Duke (a.k.a. Biscuit) was quietly sitting in the back seat. This was going much better than I had anticipated! I loaded the children into the van while my husband opened the liftgate. He and the bag boy proceeded to pile the groceries in the back. Duke calmly watched until the last bag was loaded. Then, just as my husband was closing the liftgate, Duke sprang like a gazelle from the back seat soaring neatly through the air and landing some distance from the van!
“Come here Duke! Come here Biscuit!” we shouted as he darted in between shopping carts and cars. My husband and the bag boy began to chase after him. He was super fast! (The dog, not my husband!) He ran several laps around the parking lot amidst startled shoppers and aggravated drivers. People called out to us and tried to nab him on his way by. Drivers honked their horns and yelled. After nearly ten minutes of utter chaos, Duke seemed to slow down a little and we thought we had a chance at catching him. He approached the entrance to the grocery store and then, upon seeing my husband closing in, he stepped on the automatic door opener and ran inside! Confused by the lights and people, he raced quickly back out the exit door on the other side of the store. After another ten minutes or so of chasing and yelling, my husband informed the bag boy that he was done. He was exhausted and angry and calling it quits. We were giving up and going home without the dog!
Ironically, as my husband turned and started toward the car, the dog began to follow him. My husband sped up. The dog sped up! Before my husband could make it back to the van Duke raced past him and jumped into the back seat. He turned around, settled himself in and looked at my husband as if to say, “What are we waiting on? Are we going home or what?” The parking lot fiasco was finally over!
Thus began a thirteen-year journey with this crazy dog who would eventually wreck the neighbor’s pond, ride the kid’s school bus and bring home a half-cooked steak. All true stories that I will save for another day.
