Comedy And Funny Dog Stories: How To Avoid Being Pulled Like A Human Weedeater

Once upon a time, there were two dear sweet black lab puppies who belonged to yours truly.

These two beautiful angels were found on a 4-lane road after they had been 'set free' by their owner (only one of numerous times). Finally on a gorgeous 4th of July day, not being able to stand it any longer, my kind husband brought these two 6-week-old puppies home to me in my son's bat bag.

You see, they had seen them on the way home from his baseball game in the middle of the road yet again, wandering aimlessly and he couldn't stand to think of their fate. As luck would have it, they landed in just the right place...in the most capable hands and lap of one Audrey Kirchner who already had two dogs but who was bound and determined to find a good home for these orphans who were repeatedly let go to fend for themselves. We all know where this is going, right?

Molly and Mariah (I had to name them of course because how would I know them apart?) ended up living happily ever after at the Kirchner Hacienda because said Audrey Kirchner (and her family I might add) fell in love with them and their hopeful adopters never had a chance at getting their hands on one of them.

We had a lot of fun with these two dogs and here is just one day in the life of Audrey and her beautiful black lab friends.

Molly and Mariah were wonderful dogs though they got into their share of mischief. Time passed though and I worked with them diligently to train them to be obedient dogs. I trained them to be kind dogs. I nursed them through Parvo and then rehab'd Molly who we found had grade IV hip dysplasia at age 6 months and after 2 hip replacements. Can I pick 'em or what?

I was just in love with these dogs along with my other two but the labs were young and they needed a lot of exercise. After Molly's surgery, she was basically a new dog (she should have been because what it cost, she could have had a motor and I could have driven her). But I digress......

The only caveat of her surgeries was that we needed to be careful of her hips. That meant no jumping in particular but running was okay and she was actually supposed to rebuild her muscles and get lots of exercise. I took her swimming at the lake and together as a family, we rehab'd that dog until you really wouldn't know that she had started out with such severe problems.

During this time of course, our kids were growing up and we as a family were involved in everything from music to sports to dance. Our family though was a soccer family from day one and as a whole, we just took to the sport like fish to water. All of our children were involved in soccer on a fanatic level (or was that frantic). Even our visually impaired son Patrick played. It seemed only natural then that at the ripe old age of 38, I would decide that I too needed to get on a team and start playing 'old lady soccer' as I fondly referred to it. Even Bob played one season but we don't refer to that as old man soccer; we refer to that particular episode as a 'grave mistake'. That's another story!

So in my quest to become athletically endowed so to speak, I took up all manner and forms of buffing myself up. I lifted weights, I rode bicycles, and I did something I had never done in my entire life up to that point - I jogged. Not that I was very good at it. I personally hate jogging. I could play soccer for hours and not notice that I was running but the idea of running down a road just because I was jogging totally defined insanity to me. It was a pain in the butt if you want to know the truth and I hated it. But I was hoping for that U-40 scholarship in soccer you know, so sacrifices had to be made. More days than I'd like to remember I found myself out literally beating the pavement, usually cursing all the way.

In an effort to make it somehow more interesting or perhaps less tedious, and being the ultimate multi-tasker of all time, I decided hey - why not kill two birds with one old lady and take the labs jogging when I went. They needed the exercise as they were always wound up and what better way to exercise them than to have them run alongside me? Wouldn't it just be something for folks to see me, buff and in shape, running with my two beautiful dogs down the road? They would honk or wave at me and give me two thumbs up! At least!

Well, it went pretty well. They got their exercise and I got mine, although I have to say being buff is harder than I imagined. When you are not a runner by nature, it's really hard to get in the groove so to speak. Maybe I needed an iPod to help myself along but unfortunately, that was way before such things and I was just stuck with two dogs and the street for companions.

Again, the ultimate multi-tasker that I am, on one gloriously beautiful fall day, we had a soccer game to be at in an hour. Bob was getting ready to head out the door and I all of a sudden had a brilliant inspiration that I'm known to have from time to time. Why not let him take the kids to the game and I'd just take Molly and Mariah for a 'quick' jog around town and end up at the game with them in tow? Then he could give me and the kids a lift home after the game. Didn't that just sound like an athletic thing to do?  You betcha.

I finished my jog around my regular route and I have to say, I'm really 'dog tired.' Enough is enough and staying buff was getting harder and harder all the time. It didn't help that it was a rather warm Indian Summer fall day but I had brought it on myself after all. I was about down to my last half lung when I finally jogged into the junior high school parking lot with my two trusty black pals in hand (or in leash as it were). I was seriously looking forward to NOT moving for an hour and a half because I was definitely winded.

I walked them through the fields and spotted my family at the appropriate spot - game already in progress, and went over to join them. Watching the game for a few minutes, I became rather overwhelmed from all my exertions and having cooled down, I decided to just slip off my running shoes and have a little stretch-out on the ground to soak up the warm sun's rays.

As it turned out, our middle boy was the one playing this particular day and as usual, everyone was chatting it up, partly watching the game, partly just catching up. Because I had the 2 dogs, I decided to sit down near the end line just in case there might be some folks who weren't keen on two big dogs drooling on them. As I stretched out in the warm sun, I did think to myself 'Self, it doesn't get any better than this. Nice warm day, comfortable grass, two beautiful dogs, wonderful family, fresh air, good friends....' I could have gone on and on but I'll stop there. Needless to say, I was tired from my jog and I was feeling a little bit sleepy to tell the truth. So I just stretched out and tried to watch the game.

I was snatched from my peaceful bliss by movement - MINE - and I might add at an alarming rate. I had casually entwined the two dogs' leashes around my wrist but as they started to move, they tightened around my wrist like a vise. I had been sitting up and leaning back but when they took off, I was suddenly yanked forward into a prone position on the grass and was now belly down on said grass and I was no longer where I was supposed to be. Instead, I was being yanked and pulled face first down the sideline of the game by two 80-pound labs who had decided they wanted to go play with the dog that was running across the field - conveniently at the OTHER end of the soccer field. Holy crap on a cracker - where was the brake?

I began to yell 'STOP' but they obviously did not know this word because we kept going. I saw people jumping out of the way and I heard lots of laughter as I tried to regain SOME amount of decorum and composure but let's face it. It's pretty hard to be cool when you're being dragged behind two dogs that obviously don't speak English - and all you can think of is 'Do I have grass in my teeth?' Some kind soul finally realized that I might be in a bit of a pickle and reached out and grabbed hold of the two dogs bent on reaching the other dog in 5 seconds flat. I swear my arm had grown 5 inches on that side and was throbbing like a sore tooth.

About this time, I realize that the game has stopped. I vaguely heard the referee blowing a whistle but I just thought it was part of the game. But of course not, just my luck - he had apparently seen me start to become the human weedeater and decided to call the game until it was determined if I had in fact bitten off a good mouthful of turf.

I could hear my child's inward groans from where I lay on the grass - 'Oh my GOD - does she HAVE to be my mother? I try and stay invisible and just be normal but then she has to go and do something ELSE!'

In my defense, how was I to know that these two stupid dogs were going to take off like a runaway train and take me with them? I wasn't prepared - that is my defense to this day and I'm sticking with it! Had I known, I would have handled it differently I have no doubt.

At least the dogs lost interest in the dog that had flown by and were now sitting calmly albeit winded (they were after all pulling quite a dead load there for a bit) on the sidelines. Everyone was laughing and talking - 'Hey - remember me? Does anyone possibly care if I've broken my wrist or if I have chunks of turf in my teeth?' Finally a man steps out from the crowd, my hero Bob, and comes towards me where I still lay prone on the ground like a supplicant.

The referee has the nerve to ask in front of everyone 'Are you okay, ma'am?' Geez - add insult to injury you little snot-nosed teenager! 'Of course I'm okay - I do this all the time!' I retort and just to prove it I stand up. Or I try to stand up. I'm a bit shaky from the 'ride' and as I stumble to get to my feet, realize of course that I have grass stains all over my tee shirt and my sweat pants. In retrospect, I was thrilled that my pants stayed ON while I was being dragged full force down the sidelines. THAT would have really messed up Patrick if his mother had been pantsed in public!

Bob is shaking his head as he extends his hand though and he starts to laugh. 'Always very entertaining, Audrey - I must admit you put on quite a show!' He nods to the referee as if to say 'carry on' while he proceeds to take the dogs for me while I try and rearrange my underwear and other various and assorted pieces of clothing. I hear him whisper something about 'Kinda reminds me of your boogie boarding incident ya know?' Hmmph - I get no respect.

So I had a little grass burn on my thighs for a few days - and some grass stains I never did get out of my clothes. I also had to apologize to my son for making the referee stop the game and for making a spectacle (yet again) of myself. Truly though - in all fairness - it was totally not my fault. I am the victim of some cosmic jokester up there who just loves to see these things happen to me. Why me? I have no idea but I imagine it's because I can take a joke. If you had my kinda luck, wouldn't you just get used to laughing with them?

The moral of that story is several fold. Never wear gray sweatpants or light colored tee shirts if you happen to be me. You are better off in ALL BLACK. No grass stains!

Second moral of the story - never have leashes wrapped around fingers or wrists. I seem to really have a problem with this and still I do it. If a dog bolts on you much less TWO dogs bolt on you, you have no way 'out'. You are along for the ride and it may not be pretty.

Lastly, if you are with me, you may be in for a bit of excitement. If you're related to me, I can see why you pretend you don't know me sometimes. I don't do these things on purpose you know. They just HAPPEN. Get over it!

You would think that I learned my lesson to pay attention to the labs though after that 'drag' of an experience, but unfortunately the next summer while at a baseball game that I had jogged to yet again with my two trusty pals, I collapsed into a folding chair to rest for a bit. Again, I forgot that the leashes were attached to me and when Molly and Mariah spotted a little boy behind me they wanted to go 'visit' I was pulled over backwards in the chair banging my head on the ground, fortunately missing the metal bleachers by millimeters. They again stopped the game and this time, it was my oldest son who was humiliated - as he put it - so badly that he would never be able to go back to that school.

He did in fact return to the school. Thankfully, most of the school personnel and people in our town knew all about me and cut my children some slack. In my defense, it's not like I made the news or anything!

All I can say is, those were the good old days.