This past weekend Kemba jumped off the roof.
Yes, my writing students at Blackham Middle School in Bridgeport, this is hyperbole. But not by much.
Wait, though. Let’s back up a little.
From the time Kemba emigrated from Canada, as a little ball of fluff, he never seemed to be where we were sure we’d last seen him. Example: Carol and I are in the dining room, at dinner . . .
Beagle Man: Where’s Kemba?
Mrs. B: He’s right here, at my feet.
Beagle Man (looks under the table): No he’s not.
Early on, Matt took to calling him Ninja. Or Stealth Dog. Extremely quick, this pup. Extraordinarily agile. Moves silently. Like a panther.
And now . . . there’s a new wrinkle. The ocean. He can’t stay away from it. This started, of course, a few weeks ago, during LA/XC-4, at Huntington Beach, CA. And then Morro Bay. And Lake Michigan. And Lake Erie. Last weekend, we kicked off the beach season in Amagansett. Took Kemba with us. Every single time he was off leash, he made a mad dash for the beach. Sat patiently where the waves washed up. Waiting for someone to slam tennis balls into the ocean.
All right. It’s Sunday morning. Matt and I have already had Kemba down for an hour-plus fetch-athon in the Atlantic, using a tennis racket for extra distance. Now, Matt, his girlfriend Alison, and I are ready for our bike ride to Jack’s. Kemba’s up with Carol in the top-floor master bedroom Nose against the floor-to-ceiling window. Staring out at the ocean. Longingly. Carol has also left the door to the adjoining deck open, in case Kemba prefers to sit out in the sun. The deck has protective cable all around it, some four feet high. Kemba seems pretty tuckered out from fetch, so Carol heads out for a walk, leaving him chilling in the bedroom suite.
Matt, Alison, and I return from our bike excursion to find the household in a tizzy. Carol gives me a look. “You won’t believe what your dog did while you were away,” she says.
Seems David, our niece’s husband, had gone to take the garbage out, and came upon Kemba nosing around the driveway. David did a double-take: He was sure Carol had told him distinctly before leaving for her walk that Kemba was secure upstairs. He tried to grab Kemba’s collar — but of course Kemba high-tailed it for the beach. Where he sat. Waiting for David to start bashing tennis balls. What David, and my niece Kat, and Carol then pieced together, based on forensics — including incriminating paw prints — is this:
Kemba, gazing out to sea, just couldn’t take it anymore. He went out the open door to the deck, climbed up on the Adirondack chair nearest the cable railing, then leaped the railing to the protruding roof below, maybe four feet down. From there, he leaped to the sand on the side of the house, a drop of another six feet. From there, he was free — for his driveway and beach forays.
The upper-deck escape, however, is not my only worry.
Prior to the season, we had two latched gates purpose-built, high and sturdy, for a young, curious, and athletic dog — one to keep him from the boardwalk that leads down to the beach, the other to keep him from the stairs down to the driveway. At various times over the weekend, he leaped both as if they weren’t even there.
So, Houston, we have a problem. Clearly, the railing around the deck won’t contain him. Clearly, the latched doggy gates won’t contain him. Seems I’m running out of options. Like it or not, I might have to start thinking about . . . training him?
Yikes.
____________________
JUST A REMINDER: YOU’RE ALL INVITED TO KEMBA’S DOG PARTY NEXT THURSDAY, MAY 21ST, 5:30-8:30!
____________________
LOOK FOR A NEW BEAGLE MAN POST EVERY THURSDAY. OR PRETTY CLOSE TO THURSDAY. COULD BE WEDNESDAY. OR FRIDAY. LET’S NOT GET TOO OBSESSIVE HERE . . . OH, AND BTW, YOU CAN ALSO FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK, TWITTER, AND INSTAGRAM.
Leave a Reply