Chasing Charlie

Chasing Charlie

By Elizabeth Bradley

“I am the master, I am the master, I AM THE MASTER.” I pound this in my head like a drum, but all that comes out of my mouth while I chase my 130 pound Saint Bernard Charlie is “let her sniff the dog’s butt, let her sniff the dog’s butt.”

Her tie out chain was still attached; on the opposite end to her was a 10 foot sign hitting the ground in random motion. My brother and I were chasing her, just seconds after I told a elderly couple with a small dog she was tied up, but gentle anyway. We were at a campsite for the weekend, leisurely packing up my car in the not-so-early morning. The couple was walking by and commented on how beautiful my dog was. Charlie sat in the dirt, just barely barking. She had been good all weekend and the sign she was attached to was sturdy and tall. But once Charlie spotted the chihuahua in the lady’s arms it was over. Her cough of a bark turned into a sonic boom, and she started barreling towards the little pup, with lips curled up and drool splashing everywhere. After my ignorant statement of her tie out, the sign came out of the ground as if it was just submerged in shallow water. My brother started running first. I was shocked with my mouth open and a folded tent in my arms. Dropping it, I started to run with words that will echo in my memory for many years to come.

My brother and my efforts failed miserably against my strong fast animal with viscous looks but kind curiosity. She made it to the scared couple who was holding up their dog above their heads, with terrified frozen stares as they watched to see what would unfold next. Charlie jumped in the air towards the vibrating five pound thing, and shoved her big wet nose in the butt, sniffing and snorting like a pig eating from a trough. I stopped to catch my breath and only could squeeze out a few words at a time, my heart beating out of my throat.

“I told you…. she needs… to sniff…. the butt… of everything” gasping and waving my hands, partially squatting in the tripod position. My brother was untying the sign. The couple was relieved and petted Charlie, who was now laying in the dirt on her back, swaying her head back and forth with excitement. The Chihuahua was still vibrating, eyes fixed on me as if blaming me for her nonconsensual butt sniffing.

This monster of a dog, was my best friend, love of my life, partner in crime. Charlie brought out a primal side in me that so many humans fail to realize when not attached to a fur baby. We’d go on many adventures. Hiking and car rides I believe were both our favorites. But there were always the parts in life where the dog in her and the human in me would collide. Charlie likes to escape from her home, care, daycare, or anywhere she can leave on her own free will while someone (mainly me) was chasing her. This is where the humans lose, this is where we see how far removed we allowed ourselves to become from nature. Because of this, I believe I need to rethink the idea of calling myself ‘the master’. Rethink is what I did especially when I was running down the street barefoot in a small purple dress, leash in one hand and dog treats in another screaming ‘CCCHHHAAARRRLLLIIIEEE’.

I had just returned home from a wedding, and was about to take my dog out for her afternoon walk, but my housemate came in through the front door and left it open, looking at his mail. I was switching from heels to sneakers when I noticed the door was open. Charlie made eye contact, then looked at the open door. I said “no” in vain and grabbed the leash, no time to put my shoes on.

Charlie was out the door cruising in a run only she had the confidence of knowing. People would move out of her way. I called it the ‘Char-swagger’. Remembering the treats I grabbed off the shelf, I followed behind with an uncomfortable waddle. My dog trainer years ago told me “talk in a happy voice and have treats… your dog needs to feel invited back home, not feel they will be punished.” So I did my best to sound happy as I held out the treats and called her name with a smile on my face. She Char-swagged her way down the street with not a care in the world.

Clearly the training did not work. Picking up a faster run, she barked at people on the street. I had to reassure everyone she had escaped and I was the owner, and no she is not going to eat them. It was a bright sunny day, so every neighbor was outside enjoying the weather and the free running monster terrorizing the neighborhood. She tried to run into one person’s house, but was blocked when I yelled to them. I caught up to her in the yard sniffing in the grass. We made eye contact again. She kneeled down, like a bow, tail slowly swinging back and forth, eyes fixated on me. I dropped the treats, put part of the leash in my mouth, wrapped the remaining part of the leash around my neck loosely, hiked up my dress to my underwear, legs shoulder length apart, partially squatting. I was ready, gradually putting my hands up half way, through my teeth I said “come on girl.” Charlie moved her eyebrows up and down unilaterally, still bowing. It was silent for a split second and then she lunged towards me. I jumped on her, rolled around in the grass, but I could not get a grip on her leash. She was on top of me licking my face as I tried to grab the leash and attach it to her collar, no such luck as she broke free from my half-grip and ran away. I was still on the ground, just realizing everyone could see my underwear.

Jumping up, I repeated in my head “I am the master, I am the master….ah crap.”. Charlie had just pushed by a little girl standing in her front door of the house. It’s on again, running in the house with yelled out apologies and explaining who I am. I was at the mercy of my dog’s intelligence. She had already ran up the stairs, back down, through the kitchen, all the while a family was in the living room sitting on the couch eating pizza in front of the TV with shocked looks on their faces. She darted around them and zigzagging away from me, was about to run out the front door, but stopped, turned around, pulled a slice of pizza off the coffee table and lunged out the door. I turned to the family and said “sorry” extremely out of breath with my throat becoming sore.

Once again the chase was on. We zigzagged across many yards. Some people stopped to help, others laughed. A nice lady believed spraying her with a garden hose would work. She just licked the water in the air and recharged to run a little more. We got to another yard and then she squatted to go pee, as simple as that I walked up to her, attached the leash to her collar, and she just trotted with me all the way home. Looking up at me with her mouth open and a rhythmic pant, I just shook my head. I now could feel how busted my bare feet were and just how far from home we had gotten.

All the way back to the house people smiled and some even clapped. I walked up the stairs to my porch looking up at my housemate. He shrugged his shoulders and apologized. Charlie just came up to him like she deserved an award. He knelt down rubbing her head “Charliebear.” I sighed and walked into the house, sore feet and my dress hiked up to my underwear.

The many times I had to chase my dog down the street always got me thinking: “is it me, do I make her life so miserable she wants to escape?” But if I gave up because I just couldn’t run anymore, she eventually made her way home. A happy home is filled with love, kisses from your dog, and the occasional escape.

​Even in her older years when arthritis had taken over her joints, there was still the same eye contact and a lunge out the door. Miraculously, her arthritis was on hold and she had the same Char-swagger looking over her shoulder, mouth open, tongue out, knowing I was going to chase her bare foot down the street yelling her name. So I chased after her. She wasn’t leaving me; to her always, it was a playful game.