The Chase Scene

Pre-chase

Everyone loves a good chase scene. Instead of bad guys in cars careening recklessly through intersections and alleyways, in my house, at least once a week, it's just me chasing after Dusty.  No gunfire, no screeching tires, no exciting techno music to heighten the tension.  Around here, the crime is always the same.  Grand theft.  Yet again, the dog has absconded with something that doesn't belong to him - a sock, a towel, a nice pound cake, a turkey sandwich on rye - and off I go, running after him like a complete lunatic. 

Mid-chase

I could just give him a treat and yell, "Drop it!"  But what fun is that?  Plus, we both need the exercise.  What could be more aerobic than zigzagging in and out of furniture, hurdling over chairs and cartwheeling down the hall?  The SJG likes a good challenge, and this one feels like an Olympic trial.  Until one of us gives up.  Usually me.  "Oh eff it," I said this morning in defeat.  "Keep it.  See if I care.  I've got others."  At which point, Dusty shot me an accusatory look, one that said, "party pooper," and retreated, towel in teeth.  Next time, I'm calling for back-up.