Jaci Dawn

I should have waited until today to post my blog about Harvey’s Great Escape. There were so many images and emotions passing through my mind as it unfolded and I posted without taking time to truly think about every thing. In retrospect (which is always 20/20 vision), I could have written a much better narrative. The sad thing is: I knew I needed to wait 24 hours before posting, but I was caught up in the adrenalin of the escapade.

Today I have given a lot of though to it.

First, there was Harvey. As soon as he was out the gate, he was on an adventure. In all the times that Murphy has escaped, he has only been playing a game. Murphy has crossed streets, robbed cat food from porches and danced just beyond our reach, teasing us – but he has never taken off on a dead run away from home. It has always been a game of “catch-me-if-you-can.”

I was floored when he came right to me and didn’t try to nip at my hand when I reached for his collar. Murphy was the best dog ever yesterday. He went up one hundred notches in my estimation: a suddenly mature dog with no desire to play “tag” in stranger’s yards.

I was extremely thankful to Murphy.

Selma was in her front yard, watering. I rarely see Selma these days. I think she hides from us. Maybe our dogs bark too much at her when she is in her backyard? Although Virginia on the other side of us doesn’t seem to think our dogs are a bother at all… And Selma was smiling as I nabbed Murphy and hauled him back to the yard. And Selma was smiling when I spoke to her on my way to find Harvey. She’s 83. She reminds me of my dad.

The people who tried to stop Harvey on his mad dash touched my heart. Every one of them was concerned that my big white dog would run out into traffic but every one of them was involved in their own life – just like I am – and did not have the time to offer to help me catch an errant dog.

Except Brittany, who reminded me so much of my 30-something-niece in Oakland. Brittany, who had followed Harvey up the road and then turned around to see if someone was following him with a leash in hand. Brittany, who opened her car door to a stranger and said, “Get in.”

There was Harvey, too. I got close enough to him once to see the look in his eyes. He was wild. He was somewhere between terrified of being captured and terrified of his new-found freedom. He wasn’t happy being loose: he was scared. He knew who I was, but he was scared of me capturing him. Even when I did finally corner him, he looked terrified.

This baffles me. I’ve never hit him or kicked him. When I call him to me, I have always rewarded him with lots of loving.

But I have only had a little over a year to make an impression on Harvey and someone else had two years to impress him. Someone did something to him to make him think running fast and hard is the better alternative to coming to his name.

He knows his name. He knows his commands.

He’s a good dog. He’s a sweet dog. And once he is on a leash, he is completely under control.

Murphy is not under control on a leash: he controls you. All 85# of Murphy control you. I was so blessed to have Murphy decide he wanted to go home when I snapped the leash onto his collar, because he dragged me home. He weighs 2/3’s of what I do and he has more muscle tone.

Harvey, on the other hand, is like a horse on a lead when that leash snaps into position. A horse weighs between 800 and 1100 pounds, but with a lead in hand is a pussycat. Harvey is completely under control with a leash snapped onto his collar. He heels and the leash is not taut.

So why did he run like he did? Why did he look so crazed and wild? What goes through his doggie head?

Where is Cesar Milan when I need him?

I sure would like to know Harvey’s story.

Who did he belong to the first two years of his life and what did they do to him that he still thinks he has to run at a dead sprint away when he is “free”? What is Harvey’s story?

Hint: Chrystal thinks he’s been hit by a car. He certainly has a funny way of walking and he won’t cross the busy street to the east of me, but he did run south in the bike lane on it.

By the way… I thought I did pretty well for a slightly overweight 50+ year old woman jogging after Harvey. Until today when all my muscles suddenly hurt. Just kidding – I don’t hurt nearly as much as I thought I would.

And there was Brittany. Whatever possessed her to decide to track the big white dog like she did? Why did she decide to pull over and open her car for me? I will never know but I do know this: I love that woman. I really do. I think you can love someone you hardly know. I really do. And I love Brittany. I wish her the very best life has to offer her: Karma, Heaven, blessings, love, happiness, joy. You name it: if it is good, I wish it on Brittany.

And the people with the big back yard.

I’m still reeling from the kindness of strangers.

You’d have a hard time convincing me people are not inherently good. I’ve discovered otherwise.

And here’s my vow: to be that kind of good person in return. Always.

By the way: Harvey is an English Setter. Everyone asks me that. He’s a purebred dog that someone just let run away. I will never just let Harvey run away.

Murphy, my former nemesis, is a purebred Wirehaired Pointing Griffon. And I will never just let Murphy run away.