Wasp stings and runaways. These are just a couple of things that make up a typical morning around here.
We lead wild lives. Wild.
The other morning after a comedy of errors, I got stung by a wasp. For the first time. (There’s a rite of passage to add to my Thirty by 30 List!) Ouch.
I should have called it quits at that point. But I insisted that Khailee and I go for a walk.
Short story long – a German shephard on his porch on Grenadier barked and Khailee ran in the opposite direction. Her harness came undone and she hopped like a bunny wildly toward Roncesvalles. And what did I do? The one thing you should NEVER do. I ran after her calling out her name. Thankfully I finally got over my panic and slowed to a stop, bent down at her eye level and called to her less frantically reaching into my pocket as though I had something in there for her. It worked. (Naturally, had I been completely calm about the whole thing I would have remembered to use the “touch” recall command that she was taught in her puppy class. Oh well.)
The good news is that she didn’t really want to be free. She wasn’t interested in having an adventure. She was just spooked. By a dog. Who barked. (Hmm. Maybe I should remind her that she is also a dog. Who barks. Sometimes.)
Anyway, that wasn’t the only runaway I had to deal with last week. Meet Wally (pictured above). He came-a-meowing at my front steps as Khailee and I were on our way back from our morning walk. It was all of 7:30am and within a few moments I realized that Wally was not an outdoor cat. He was lost.
What gave it away you ask? He looked well-fed (translation: fat and lazy) and he was bejeweled (a rhinestone collar to be exact). Thankfully he had an ID tag. I called Toronto Animal Services but alas, they wouldn’t open until 8am.
So there we sat. Cat. Dog. Human. on the porch for about 30 minutes until I could get him back to his home.
He was thirsty, likely hungry and apparently pissed off. (I never realized that when a cat wags its tail, it actually isn’t happy. Quite the opposite.) He was sweet enough to me and had no bones with Khailee. When I finally got in touch with his owner, she explained that every August for the past few years, Wally has taken a vacation. Wally has wanderlust. Last summer, he was found on Geoffrey Street at our next door neighbours’ house. His owner came by to pick him up almost immediately and so ended our little adventure with Wally the lost cat.