You Don't Want To Wag The Tail

If The Tail Ain’t Wagging Itself

Being a dog lover, I always owned a dog, or perhaps the dog owned me. Dogs are loyal and give unconditional love. Your wife and kids will get angry, or in my case, embarrassed, by you from time to time, but a dog will always be happy to see you. If you go away for a day or two, the dog will miss you.

I don’t hate cats; I don’t wish ill upon them, I just wish they would not put their paw prints all over my newly washed car. A cat is not happy to see you when you return from a trip. They will show mild interest if you have food. A dog will run up to you, food or not.

It is amazing I like dogs so much because my older sisters nearly ruined it for me when I was a child. When I was 12 inches in diameter I had a life changing experience. Does it seem odd I measured my age as a child in inches of diameter instead of in years? It is odd and indicative of the weirdness of the story.

When I was 12 inches in diameter, we had a nice Heinz 57 family mutt with characteristics of multiple breeds. One day, our mutt was missing. Four days later, we noticed a foul smell emanating from the culvert under the driveway. A brief investigation revealed the old dog crawled into the middle of this culvert and died.

Living in the country, it fell upon us to do our own animal removal. The culvert was small, just a little larger than… you guessed it, me. My sisters suggested I crawl in and pull out the dog. Aren’t sisters wonderful? They decided I should crawl in with a rope, put it around the animal, and my dad and my brother would pull him out. Sounds like a good plan doesn’t it? It turned out to be good for everyone but me.

They fastened a handkerchief, soaked with my sister’s perfume, over my mouth and nose, slapped me on the back for good luck, and sent me into no man’s land. What a loving family. I entered head first, my hands extended above my head with rope in tow. Before getting too far, I quickly realized the culvert was too narrow for rope work. After retreating, my sisters informed me of Plan B.

Plan B required I tie the rope around my waist and grab the dog’s tail. My loving family would pull both of us out. I went once more into the breach and inched my way to the middle of the culvert. (Why did she have to crawl into the middle of the culvert?) When I reached the dog I grabbed her tail, but it started to wag. Hey, what’s this! She’s not dead after all, her tail wagged. Shortly, I realized the dog was not wagging her tail, I was! It broke off in my hand! Believe me when I say, you don’t want to wag the tail if the tail ain’t wagging itself.

I unleashed a primordial scream, scaring my support staff standing above me in the fresh air. The handkerchief fell off my face when I realized I was not the only thing alive in the culvert. My loving family began to furiously pull on the rope. Of course, I got stuck. Going in frontward dragging the rope was difficult, coming out backward was nigh impossible. Finally after fifteen hours if you ask me, fifteen minutes if you ask my beloved sisters, I made it to daylight. You would think my oldest sister admired me for my effort, but you would be wrong. She wanted me to go back for her handkerchief.

So, it is astonishing I love dogs so much today, but I don’t care much for handkerchiefs.

Randy Russ
http://www.randyruss.com/