"When Good Dogs Do Bad Things"

It's amazing how quickly a good day can get turned completely on its head.

This afternoon, when Connor woke up from his nap, I decided we'd play out in the yard for awhile since it had stopped raining. This set Murphy (our dog) into a tailspin — literally. Usually, before I let him out with us, I'll walk up to the top of the driveway and close the gate, but lately he's been listening to me and staying in the yard, so I decided I'd take him out with us before said gate was clamped shut. Today, he listened for a minute, but once we got halfway up the driveway, he bolted.

He didn't go far, and like I said, he's been listening a lot better lately so I knew getting him back wouldn't be a problem. I walked to the gate to call him back, but noticed a car coming so I told him to stay. The car pulled up next to me and stopped. Intrigued, Murphy came running over.

Apparently, this guy had an identical looking dog that died last year and wanted to talk about Murphy's breed and characteristics.
No problem.

Then the guy wanted to pet Murf.
Sure, why not?

Then the guy wanted to take his picture.
Uh, okay. Murphy doesn't have any warrants, so I guess it's cool.

By the time this guy got out of his car, Murphy had been distracted by his Kryptonite — another dog. For all his good points (and there are many) Murphy turns into a lunatic when he sees other dogs. He's not being mean, he just gets really excited but ends up sounding as if he wants to disembowel the other pooch with his drool-dripping fangteeth. Needless to say, most folks don't like to let their dogs "meet" Murphy — the 90 lb. crazed canine.

Seeing Murphy's increasing agitation, I assumed the guy would back off and let me handle my dog's aggression. But, he got between us and the approaching dog (a "menacing" Jack Russell) and insisted on getting his photo. By the time he'd squeezed off two quick photos, Murphy decided he'd had enough.

Bursting into instant convulsions designed specifically to knock me on my ass and free himself from my command, Murphy did just that. As he was wresting himself from my grip, I fell ass over elbows into the mud, bruising my tailbone and making a total ass out of myself in the process. The fall was the kind where you have no idea what happened — you just know it looked as bad as it felt.

What did the concerned bystander do? You mean, besides pretending nothing happened?

After watching Murf speed off to terrify the Jack Russell, he offered a half-hearted apology for getting me "twisted up," with the same conviction as if he were apologizing for sneezing.

After asking me some questions about how long we'd lived here (under the guise of wondering why he'd never seen Murphy before), he got in his car and drove off.

After gathering Connor (who was still in our yard, though I had nearly forgotten about him in the excitment), we hollered until Murphy saw fit to return and take his lumps.

I didn't really stop and think about the exchange until the event was over. Stacey is worried that Murphy is gonna get dognapped by the weirdos down the street.

Can't you just picture it?

"I know my first name is Murphy!"