The definition of IRONY

Friday night, we had some friends over for dinner. While they were here, we somehow got on the topic of our two dogs, Samson and Bailey. During the discussion, Warren and I talked about how and why we chose the Chow Chow breed, what we love about them, what we find difficult about them, fun breed facts, etc. I mentioned that they are wonderful dogs to own, but not if you have a pool. I cited some statistic I had once read about how Chow Chows die each year from accidental drownings MORE than any other cause. (Chow Chows have a dense, double coat, which makes it almost impossible to swim. Their coats become so heavy, when wet, that they are literally dragged down to the bottom.)

Fast forward to Saturday morning...

I woke up to a text from my realtor. She asked if our house could be shown later in the afternoon. I agreed and, immediately, started to get the house "Show Ready." (Due to the fact that our dogs do not handle strangers walking in very well, particularly without us in the house, we have been locking them on the deck during said showings.)

Noting the beautiful weather, we decided to go over to my parents' place to swim, while the house was shown. We left half an hour before the showing agent and potential buyers were to arrive. We put the dogs outside, with the intention of one of us quickly running back over to let them inside after the showing.

Almost immediately after arriving at my parents' house, our realtor sent me another text stating that the showing agent was running about half an hour late. Quickly doing the math in my head, I realized that our dogs would be subjected to 85-90 degree weather for almost TWO HOURS, with a small bowl of water and ZERO shade. Believing that they would have a heat stroke before we returned (another thing to be mindful of when owning Chow Chows), I voiced my concerns to both Warren and my mother. Mom told us to simply bring them over to her place, until the showing was finished.

While Mom and I chilled poolside, Warren and the girls (they just HAD to go with their Daddy) went back to our house to get the pups. Just as Warren returned, it started to sprinkle. Due to the rain, he did not want to try to corral both dogs AND both girls at the same time. So, instead, he decided to bring the dogs down to the pool area to hang with Mom and I, while he got the girls out of his vehicle.

As anyone who owns a dog knows, they get PSYCHOTICALLY HAPPY, when they get to go somewhere out of the ordinary. My dogs, for instance, run around every square inch of their new domain - running so fast that their fur is slick against their backs. Bailey is MUCH worse than Samson! Some of this is attributed to the fact that she is half his age. The majority, however, is the simple fact that Bailey is one CRAZY BITCH! (Pun most definitely intended.)

So, naturally, the moment Warren got Bailey out of the back of his truck, she took off running - FULL SPEED AHEAD! He did not even have time to get a leash on her. In all her glory, she came sprinting down the stairwell leading to the pool. She ran from one end of the pool area to the next - and back again - with Samson right behind her. I shouted for them to come under the kitchen area, so they did not get wet from the rain. Warren had turned and was standing at the bottom of the stairs, about to scale them to bring the girls down. Still yelling at them to calm down, I pushed myself up from the chair upon which I was sitting. Although I could not see either canine, I could hear their paws hitting the concrete and their gasps for air mid-run. Just as I stood, I heard it. "SPLASH!!" (I knew, before even seeing, what had happened.)

Bailey, who has never seen a pool in her life, ran straight into it. (I presume she thought it was merely blue concrete.) I was no more than 20 feet away, but it felt like it took me an ETERNITY to get to the edge of the pool. (During those EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG SECONDS, the Chow Chow drowning facts from the night before were BLARING in my head, and I saw - firsthand - their truth.) 

As I ran, I could see her rolling around, trying to get into an innate swimming position, all while UNDER the water. (Although it was mere seconds, her head never once came back up above the water's surface.) Fully clothed, with my shoes on, I jumped straight into the pool to rescue my 55 lb (about 80 lbs, when wet), ABSOLUTELY FREAKING OUT dog! (The diameter of her nails encompass a good part of a dime, so you can only imagine what my thighs currently look like, as she was scratching and pawing in a PANICKED attempt to swim!) Holding her in a chokehold (much like you do, when saving a human), I swam her toward the steps Warren stood on waiting to pull her out. (I will tell you this. I have, now, saved both a person and an animal from drowning. The person, a 6 ft 2 in overweight man - in the middle of the ocean - was MUCH easier!!) 

Bailey, obviously, survived. Nothing but her pride hurt (or maybe just mine.) As one of my friends pointed out, "As much trouble as she causes, you must love her to have not hesitated at jumping in after her!" (I would not be so certain, as I would have taken her out back and shot her in the head had my cell phone been in my pocket.)

As I exited the pool, the TORRENTIAL downpour arrived. Standing there (already soaking wet), I put my arms out to both sides, looked up at the sky and said, "Are you FREAKING serious?!" (After all the drama we went through, whomever looked at my house this weekend better buy it, or I will likely hunt them down.)

Just before I put on a pair of Mom's pajama pants and one of her t-shirts, Warren snapped these photos. They will be a lovely addition to our fur ball inclusive Gardner Family Album.

Warren thinks I look like the Hobbit, in the above photo, but I am leaning towards the Hunchback of Notre Dame.