Adventures in Dogwalking, Part 253

Abbie and I often have a big disagreement about her going out in the middle of the night. I have to get up to let her out – there is no dog door.

I know what it is like to have a tiny bladder, so if she wants to go out, I consider it carefully.

If she gets to the door and starts wagging madly, she has to stay in. This is because the mad wagging is a sign she is going outside to bark at cats or possums or what-have-you.

Last night I awoke at 4 a.m. She wanted to go out.

I started thinking – I had done errands for most of the evening, and then when I came home, she didn’t go out. But the air smelled strongly of skunk. I didn’t want to let her out to get sprayed.

So damn it. I put on my boots, got the leash, and took her out front.

I paced with her up and down the driveway, her happily inspecting every bush but NOT GOING.

I was chanting “GO GO GO” under my breath.

It was at this point that we popped around the front hedge, only to confront Abbie’s sworn nemeses, two Great Pyrenees dogs and their elderly owner.

Abbie lost her mind and started barking like she was going to kill all of them, which is probably the very reason they were out walking at 4 a.m. – to avoid maniacs like us.

Too bad, lady. The maniacs are out at all hours.