Whiplash Willie

This morning I learned a very important lesson. And that is: Just because your out-of-control, psycho dog has been showing signs of improved behavior of late, do not be foolish enough to assume that you can take the dog out without his harness. I made that mistake today friends, and let me tell you that I am paying dearly for it now. I am pretty sure that I have whiplash. Now, I’ve never had it before, so I’m not 100% positive, but I do know that even now, an hour later, I still feel like my brain is bouncing back and forth inside my skull.
When I got up this morning, I realized that I had slept an hour later than usual (it was that exciting Webkinz Extravaganza that did me in, I just know it!) and that meant that Willie was needing to go potty extra bad. So in my haste to get him out the door, I just put him on his leash instead of bothering with the harness. It wasn’t too bad at first, he only pulled me a little, but then when I was least expecting it, he totally rocked my head! We were heading back in and he was just kinda frolicking along behind me, when I guess he saw something down the hill that needed investigating and he took off like a rocket, I had no idea because I had him on one of those retractable leashes, so he had a good 3 seconds to build up speed before I even realized he was taking off. Right about the time that I DID realize it, he ran out of leash and I was caught so completely off guard that I literally thought my head was going to detach from my shoulders and roll down the hill!

I’m in pain.

However, on the bright side, I managed to stay upright, and that’s a pretty amazing feat given the fact that I had been standing right at the top of the steep hill in the backyard. That could’ve gone so much worse…and normally, for me, if it can go worse, it does.


2 thoughts on “Whiplash Willie

  1. Little Sister April 29, 2008 at 12:00 pm Reply

    He is so cute though!

  2. […] Willie is another story, as you can imagine. He pretty much follows me around everywhere I go. Except when I go upstairs, which is where his cage is. When I go upstairs, he follows with caution, ready to bolt at the first sign of being put into said cage. So, I pretty much have to pretend that I’m not even the slightest bit interested in putting him in that cage and then reach down, with my cat-like speed and reflexes, and grab him by the collar and wrangle him in. And that’s precisely what I did, only he was wise to all that noise and as soon as I grabbed his collar, he bolted. And when he did that, he sent my skull crashing into the doorknob on our bedroom door. […]

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