Klaus

 

After the rush to flee Globe Life Stadium with the stink of defeat upon us (the Yankees lost in humiliating fashion to the Texas Rangers), we managed to get out of the stadium parking lot ahead of the vast majority of hometown fans, still celebrating wildly. My wife was driving as she’s naturally more adept for situations like this, her career having her negotiate New York City, Washington DC, and now Dallas city streets on a near-daily basis. We quickly found ourselves on the highway heading home, around 10:15 pm, a 45-minute drive from Arlington.

Anyway, to entertain the Mrs., I monitored the Yanks’ twitter account and some fan blogsites reading aloud comments and commentary on the night’s debacle. To be honest, it was really quite funny. New York fans are the best and come up with some of the choicest one-liners. Most, however, were vulgar and I can’t really post them here. Regardless, we were chuckling and the shock of the night wore off as my wife turned off the main highway and drove the few streets before turning onto our block.

And there was Klaus in the middle of the road!

Klaus is the large Doberman who lives in the house diagonally behind us. He’s the size of a small pony and has a thunderous bark that often keeps us up at night, especially if he’s out in his yard chasing bunnies. He has a companion, an ancient bulldog named Champ, built like a fire hydrant made out of concrete. Though they’re both intimidating on first sight, they are sweet animals. Klaus is spastic and full of energy, about seven or eight years old, and Champ meanders along like a tank. I know this because I have met them several times. My youngest daughter Patch walks them every now and then for $15 an hour, and she always brings them by when she does. These dogs are the epitome of “bark-worse-than-bite.”

 

Patch and Klaus

 

My wife slammed on the brakes a few feet away from Klaus. Because I knew this dog, I rolled down the window and called his name over and over. We realized he was off the leash, escaped from his yard and wandering the neighborhood. Klaus heard me and paused, but by the time I got my shoes on and jumped out of the car he bounded down the alley behind my house.

I ran after him calling his name. Not sure what I’d do, since he was collarless. But perhaps I could re-assure him, pet him, calm him down, and maybe Patch could call his owner or even walk him back to the yard herself. I was halfway down the alleyway when Klaus stopped. Turned. And began growling at me, a low, menacing rumbling from his big chest.

Uh-oh.

I backed up as he advanced on me, slowly then more focused. Something had made him upset, very upset, and he obviously did not recognize me in the dark. I retreated up my driveway. I knew I couldn’t outrun him, and the only defense I could see was my giant recycling bin. Could I hide behind it? Could I throw it at him? These thoughts raced through my head as Klaus advanced up my drive. This all happened in something like ten seconds.

The Mrs., still in the car in the street facing the alleyway, illuminating the area with her headlights, fortunately hit the garage door opener at this moment. Klaus halted, spooked by the sudden noise of the door rumbling up and the new light from our garage shining in his eyes. I trotted inside the garage where there would be more items I could defend myself with – fold-up chairs, a broom, a weed whacker, even. But with all this new stimuli the dog turned on its heels and raced down the alley into the darkness.

Patch came out at this time, calling Klaus sweetly, with no luck. The wife pulled into the garage and we debated a course of action. Patch texted Klaus’s owner with no answer. She was confident that Klaus wouldn’t hurt her. In fairness, she has spent about a hundred times more, uh, time with him than I have. But I didn’t want her to go by herself. So for a half-hour we walked the neighborhood, calling his name, attuned for any motion or any barking. Nothing. All was silent and the only thing on the move were the foraging rabbits. Eventually we got in my car and slowly drove down to the ponds and a few further streets, again luckless.

We turned in for the night around midnight. Then – the owner texted Patch back! Klaus did, in fact, escape the yard when the woman got home from her job and let the dogs out. But he returned and she let him back in the yard before reading her texts and not seeing or hearing us looking for Klaus.

Lesson learned: Never, ever, ever approach a strange dog. And unless you’ve scratched his belly, all dogs are strangers.