Our Little Doggy’s Big Day

It takes some of us a while to reach our goals.

Take Toby Hagarty, our poodle, as an example. The mission he set for himself four years ago was to catch a squirrel, a perfectly reasonable thing for a dog to want to do, I suppose. Catching a squirrel doesn’t appeal to me, personally, but each to his own.

Toby’s daily efforts went unrewarded until last week and then, boy, were they rewarded. For some reason, we seem to dwell in the most densely populated squirrel habitat on the planet so Toby’s failures as a squirrel catcher were not for lack of opportunity. As speedy as our little mutt is, and he can really move, he is no match for one of those overgrown rats with the bushy tail.

Twice a day, when I walk Mr. Toby around the block, he practises his skills which have always fallen just a little bit short. Realizing early on that he was never going to get one, I amused myself by letting him run to the end of the leash after squirrels until I put an end to his fun.

I have never actually wanted him to catch one; I’m afraid one of those little rodents, if that’s what they are, would scratch my dog’s eyes out and another fat vet bill would soon be in the mail.

Last week, as we were coming back from our walk, Toby spied a squirrel by a big maple on the neighbour’s front lawn. He went into his squirrel-catching stance – standing stock still with one paw in the air – and planned his move. I noticed the squirrel had his head buried in a pile of leaves and was distracted and I wondered if this just might be the day.

Sure enough, Toby pounced right onto the little critter and then didn’t seem to know what to do after that. Just as with many of us, he had spent his whole life in pursuit of one thing without giving any thought to how he would handle it if he ever got it. (For reference, reflect on marriage, children, etc.)

Without a plan, he hesitated and his prey escaped and was up the tree like a bullet. I couldn’t stop laughing.

But that all stopped when Toby walked through our backyard gate ahead of me and before I knew it, was wrestling on the patio with another poor bushy-tailed nut-gatherer, only this time, the dog was calling the shots.

I didn’t know what was happening at first, it all transpired so quickly. The poor squirrel ran up a fence post but fell back down again and Toby was on him, even though I was trying to haul him off.

The little animal went back up the post, but stopped right in front of me. I could have reached out and grabbed him. He was in shock. His eyes were bulging out of his head and his stomach heaved in and out because of his rapid breathing.

He moved on up to a ledge, and stopped again, trying to recover. Soon, he disappeared over the fence, but this was not his best day.

And Toby, having experienced the thrill of catching not one, but two squirrels in the space of one minute, now walks around the neighbourhood like Muhammad Ali, itching for his next bout.

That won’t come any time soon, however. I am monitoring him closely now. One more vet bill and I’ll be living in a tree with the squirrels Toby hasn’t caught yet.

©2011 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.