At Will Rogers Park

"I lead such a tame life now," says Na'ilah.

"Walking up to Inspiration Point in Will Rogers State Park is about the biggest thing I do, except for summers at Trout Lake and stopping by Dinosaur Tracks near Tuba City on the way.

Here I am with Stormy, getting a drink after our walk.

Haven't tasted any cats lately either."

Relief

I'm back from driving to my credit union with the amazing, miraculous check from State Farm.

"I deposited the check this morning," I tell John as he's getting dressed.  It's 10 am.

"Good," he says, pulling on his socks.  

Then, after some reflection on the attack and the owner of the cat, he adds, "I guess I won't email her.  Let sleeping dogs lie."

"Thank you," I say.  

Estranged

How can I feel so loving toward this dog one evening and then so frustrated with her the next morning?

We set out at 7 am for our morning walk, Na'ilah, Stormy, and I. 

Of course, Na'ilah regards this event as a hunt.  She heels pretty well until she gets a whiff of a cat or squirrel, which today happens only a block from home.  

I let her pull me a few feet off the sidewalk as she sniffs at thick foliage in the yard of a house on Pacific Street.

Suddenly she's pointing and staring aggressively.

We hear the deep, mournful growl of a cat that must be hiding three feet from her nose in the bushes.

I reach for the salmon strips I'm carrying in my treat bag for this type of emergency and hold one near her saying, "Na'ilah! Heel!"

She could care less.  

It's like rock, paper, scissors.  Cat definitely wins over salmon strips.

I tug on the leash, but the Gentle Leader head harness is not designed for dragging a dog in the direction you want it to go.  I know I'm supposed to use voice commands and treats, and in fact I have no other choice.

For five or six minutes--it seems longer--Na'ilah holds us hostage, the cat growls, and I grip the collar around Na'ilah's neck trying to drag her away.

The vision of a cat attack resulting in death or expensive surgery--again--makes me desperate.

I tug and pull and treat in vain as Stormy stands by, occasionally performing a sit and getting a bit of the salmon cookie.

I'm sure State Farm would not be as generous with Round 2 of a cat attack.

I feel completely estranged from this beast.  Why did I pick up a strange dog in the desert?  I wouldn't pick up a hitchhiker.  (Well, usually not.)

Why such a big dog?  (Note to self: confine your charity to lap dogs.)

Finally she allows herself to be pulled away and continues hopefully down the block, plied with the last of the salmon strips.

The rest of the walk is uneventful, though delayed by a pause at each tree and house where she has previously encountered a cat or squirrel.

Questions

Why is the cat alive?

How could she be held in Nailah's jaws and not be injured?

Did Nailah grab her by the scruff of the neck, the way a mother dog carries her pups?  But Callie had a cone on her neck.

Nailah has had two or three litters of pups.  Maybe she grabbed the cat gently.

But she was shaking the cat.

Have they taken the cat to a vet?  I'm sure they would let me know if Callie was injured.

Maybe cats really do have nine lives.

Today I manage Nailah and Stormy's walk with an iron grip.  I understand why the dog training classes say to loop the leash around the thumb and then secure it with all four fingers.  

For Stormy this grip was not really needed, but for Nailah it's very important, and I wrap the leash once more around my whole hand.

I do not let her pull me off the sidewalk.  I do not walk down the block where the attack occurred.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving morning and I need to bake an apple pie and some dinner rolls before leaving at 12:30 pm for the family gathering.

I walk the dogs before starting to bake.  Mistake.

On the walk Nailah attacks a cat.  

We pass the house where two cats live, Callie and Aja Baba.  Sometimes one of them is sitting on a three-foot wall, and I let Nailah walk closer and sniff.

Today when I do that, Nailah suddenly lunges.

She clamps her teeth on the little black cat and starts shaking her.

"No, no, Nailah!" I scream, yanking on her leash.  

Nailah releases the cat, and I see she has a cone around her neck.

Callie can't escape as usual through the wrought iron fence because of the cone.  

Nailah grabs her again but immediately releases her as I scream "No, no!" and try to pull eighty pounds of dog toward me.   

Then Callie dashes off through the bushes into a back yard, and I regain control of my monster.

I knock on the door but the owner is not home.  No cars in the driveway.  Thanksgiving.

I drag Nailah and Stormy home, yelling at them and at myself.

I return and leave a note for Callie's owner with my cell phone number--not the land line.  I don't want anyone but me to answer this call.

I knock on the door of a next-door neighbor and tell her what has happened.  She calls Callie's owner.

I return to the house.  Thanksgiving has been ruined.  Nailah has probably killed a neighbor's cat.  

I fumble around the kitchen as the clock ticks toward T-time, but there's no point to making pies or dinner rolls.

~

At 9:30 am John gets up and walks out from the bedroom.  I've been debating how and when to tell him.

Not now, I decide immediately.

He looks around dourly.  "What are you doing?"

"Baking."

"How are you?"

He never asks how I am, especially not first thing in the morning.  I try to find something to say that is not a lie.

"I got a good night's sleep."

"Where's Stormy?" he asks, and I realize that I forgot to let Stormy into the house to jump up on the bed next to him after our walk.  

He lets Stormy in and retreats to the bedroom.

~

Two minutes later I get a call on my cell.  It's a local number so I know who it is.

"This is Anne.  How's the cat?"

Callie seems to be okay.

"Are you sure?" I ask.  

No bleeding and she's not tender to the touch.

How can that be?  The image of Callie in Nailah's jaws being shaken is imprinted on my retinas.

"I'll pay for x-rays, for whatever she needs," I say.

"We have something to be grateful for," says Callie's owner.  

~ 

I walk gingerly through the rest of the day.  Turkey, dinner rolls, pie, family rituals.

I thank God that the little black cat is alive.  It's a miracle.  The great God of the Universe--Melech ha'Olam--has looked with favor on us.

Still, I am puzzled.