How My Dog Nearly Broke My Back
As I stared up at the early morning sky and heard the birds chirping in the trees around me, somewhere, subconsciously, at the back of my mind I thought of how beautiful a day it was. However, at that given moment, the only thing that really bothered me was that on my autopsy report, underneath the ‘cause of death’ column, they were going to write “dog".
Walking with my dog should be classified as a natural disaster.
He doesn’t walk, but chooses to rather tornado down the street, his tiny legs quickly overtaking my longer ones. He pulls left, then right, then left again, and dives headfirst into a pile of neatly arranged leaves. Jumping over gutters, chasing a few innocent individuals, barking at any dog who is minding his own business; Calvin considers it a waste of a walk if he doesn’t do at least that much in the span of 45 minutes.
The morning had been a beautiful one. The air had been crisp and cool, and there had been a feeling of stillness all around, a feeling of solitude. My mother, always having been the early riser, insisted on taking Calvin for an early morning walk that day since we all were already up. Not seeing any reason to say no, I agreed and off we went. The sun hadn’t risen (along with half the population, but convincing my mother will only result in one response -"The early bird catches the worm"), and it was quite chilly. Pleasant. A good start.
The first half of the walk was predictable. Calvin meandered down the roads, marching to his own drum, not a care in the world. I, the person holding the leash, frantically tried to keep up, my mom strolling a few paces behind.
“What a beautiful day! So calm, peaceful. Don’t you agree, Mishti?” She called cheerfully, plucking a small flower and placing it behind her ear. She took a deep breath, a serene smile spreading across her face.
“Clearly" I muttered, as I jumped over what I counted to be the fifth gutter. Calvin pranced along, deaf to my objections and pleas for him to slow down, forgetting that while he had four legs, I, unfortunately, did not.
As we neared the slope that I knew Calvin was - as he did everyday- going to drag me down, my mother decided to change the plan.
Pointing to a park adjacent to a basketball court, she clapped her hands excitedly. “Let’s take Calvin here, no? It’s empty, and he’ll have some fun? Ok?” Not waiting for my response, she opened the gate, and Calvin happily bounded inside, tail wagging excitedly. I followed suit, relieved that the torture had been delayed, not knowing that what was to come would be a hundred times worse.
The grass was slick, I remember, due to the rainy night before. Calvin jumped around the park, sniffing the air eagerly, his tail not resting for a moment. A grin being the best word to describe his face at the time, he milled around doing things dogs enjoy doing- eating grass, kicking up some mud, the usual. Watching him prance around, I decided the best course of action was to give him the ultimate weapon.
A ball.
One can say I brought doom upon myself.
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Pulling his favorite red rubber ball out my pocket, I whistled to get Calvin’s attention. He looked up from the sandbox he was ravaging, eyes widening as he focused in on the ball I was holding, his mouth falling open in wonder. I laughed, oblivious to the beast I had awakened, and cracked a few jokes much to my mother’s amusement. As I juggled the ball around, whistling a tune I knew Calvin liked, I happened to notice his tail stiffen, the fur on his back standing at attention, and that’s how I realized I was in trouble.
For anyone who doesn’t live with a dog, let me tell you that they are creatures who are extremely ignorant of their size and weight, one can say almost blissfully so. No matter how big they are, no matter how old they grow, they expect to be treated like the puppies they once were, and will adamantly sit on your lap until you concede and humor them. While this may sound extremely cute and fuzzy at this moment, it can easily turn into a situation which will leave you with more than a few aches and pains.
Now, you may ask, “But Mishti, why would you think you were in trouble? He was only excited to see the ball!’’. These, and I am sure all dog owners will understand my plight, are questions asked by people who have never been tackled to the floor by a 60 pound Labrador.
So, as I watched Calvin pounce towards me, a flurry of movement, his golden fur gleaming in the bright sunshine like molten gold, I realized that I probably should scream.
As I slipped, my feet sliding across the soggy grass, I remember thinking how hilarious the way I was falling was-exactly the way it was portrayed in cartoons, legs splayed forward and arms flailing. I landed on my back, an audible huff leaving my mouth, and I was so in pain I barely noticed Calvin sprinting away with the ball.
That goddamn ball.
My mom immediately appeared above me, frantic and questioning. Are you okay? Can you get up? Should I be calling someone? Are you paralyzed? (The last question made me open my eyes and give her a look that made her apologize.) She was muttering under her breath, cursing herself for forgetting her phone, listing all the people she knew in the neighborhood. Would Neha be awake? Could the Varma’s drive us to the hospital?
I, on the other hand, could only think about how ridiculous the way I was going to die was. However, I comforted myself by reflecting about that one Greek fellow who died laughing at his own joke. It was definitely better than that, right? At least my final moments would be spent in this lovely garden, surrounded by my panicking mother and a hyperactive dog.
I could rest easy.
It was around this time Calvin realized something was unusual. Why wasn’t anyone chasing him around for the ball? Why was his older sister lying on the ground? Was it belly-rub time? My dog, in his quest for answers, prodded over and expectantly nudged me with his nose, the demand apparent in his eyes.’ Get up, and chase me around.’
It was also around this time my mother had had enough. Her frantic-mother-concerned-about-her-daughter stage had come to a close. There was nothing wrong with me. There couldn’t be anything wrong with me. We were going to finish the walk, we were going to go home, and I was going to be perfectly fine. So, like all concerned and loving mothers, she told me to get off my butt and shake it off.
And that’s what I did.
Needless to say, I am extremely grateful to not have spent my final breaths in that garden. Death by dog is definitely much, much worse that dying by laughing so hard at one of my own jokes.
