By Lauren Green
Change is in the air. The shift from hot to not-so-hot certainly takes its sweet time here in North Texas. But even so, leaves eventually fall, triple digits yield and the sweater-boot combo triumphantly makes a return to the front of the closet. Change creeps in on every facet of my life, with one exception. Like clockwork, every morning after breakfast and every evening just after dinner, our dog Ruby initiates her ritual staring match with the back door. Day and night, rain or shine, she wants her walk. It was on one such seemingly unremarkable walk that Ruby’s story took an unexpected turn.
It was hot that morning. Already there was an unwelcome heaviness in the air as the sun began its shift from gentle early-morning friend to oppressive UV-packed bully. As such, I was in a hurry to finish Ruby’s first walk of the day and get back home to my air conditioning. Hearing the all too familiar ding of a text message, I stopped to glance at my phone. Like second nature, I typed out a quick reply, tucked my phone back in my pocket and set out to finish the walk. Except Ruby wasn’t budging. I tugged on her leash; she held firm with an immovable stance. While I had my head buried in my phone, Ruby, it seems, had picked up a friend.
Wedged deep in her mouth was a dead squirrel, pinned in her locked jaw. The animal, now a stiff stick-like rod, most likely had an unfortunate encounter with a speeding car.
First, I screamed, my go-to response for anything unexpected. Next, I hopped around and jerked the leash, hoping to shake the squirrel free. Her footing solid, Ruby looked at me with mild interest, ratcheted her jaw tighter and drooled an impressive amount of spittle over the squirrel’s matted fur in swaying, free-hanging strings.
Not having a better plan, I resumed the walk. Ruby happily joined in beside me, pleased to continue her outing with a new (albeit deceased) friend in tow. I led Ruby to the creek near our house, usually a favorite spot for both of us. I hoped the walk would distract her enough to loosen her grip on the squirrel, but if anything, her grasp tightened; her possessiveness seemingly growing more secure with each step. At the end of the path, deep in the trees, I let Ruby off leash, hoping the rare freedom to run would overwhelm her into dropping the squirrel. Instead, she looked at me with an expression that I could only interpret as “this-is-too-good-to-be-true,” while still clenching her prize, and bounded into the creek. All too soon, my problem had intensified. A dead squirrel, an off-leash dog and a stagnant mid-summer creek do not make for a pleasant combo.
There is a happy ending, though. Ruby is stubborn. But lucky for me, she’s also easily distracted. With a targeted throw, I launched a stick just downstream from where she stood, belly-deep in the creek. Diverted just long enough to chase after it, Ruby blessedly dropped that squirrel. She quickly lost interest in the stick, but by that time, the squirrel was long gone in the now stirred-up, muddy water. Ruby loves squirrels, and she loves the creek, but she hates being alone. So, jogging back toward the street, I managed to draw her away from the water and get her quickly snapped back on her leash. We continued on our walk; Ruby prancing beside me as if nothing had happened. And me, stunned by the serendipitous turn of events that had just played out.
What does a story about a stubborn dog, a stiff squirrel and a stinky creek have to do with this current season, full of its delightful sparkles, spices and sacred moments? Not much, except it’s a good reminder that the best moments in life can pop up any time. May this change of season find you, your friends, your family (and even your furry ones) main characters in jaw-dropping stories worth holding on to. And honestly, I hope dried blood, creek stench and stubborn stare-offs are not involved.
Lauren Green and her husband have called Southlake home for over eighteen years. Her extended family of now six enjoys getting together whenever they can… after they have walked the dog, of course. You can reach her at [email protected].