My dog Rachel is hilarious. Perhaps you remember her from Julia’s post about her fear of becoming just like dear old Rachel, or from her post about Rachel at the park. Rachel is adorable. She’s lovely and sweet and does nothing but sleep and lay around all day long. She loves my mother the most out of everyone (but I’m a very close second, or at least that’s what I tell myself). She purrs when you pet her and doesn’t drool nearly as much as our other dog Sam.
Rachel was supposed to be a guide dog, but she has hip problems, so she couldn’t fulfill her duties. But that’s good news for us because we got to keep her, but also because she was really well socialized and barely ever barks. Seriously, never. While this is usually a good thing, it’s not so much when you think you’ve lost her and she doesn’t respond to you shouting her name.
Here’s the story.
One day, my dad took Sam to the park and my mum was supposed to meet him there with Rachel. But when my mum was ready to leave, she couldn’t find Rachel anywhere in the house. Chaos ensued. She and I raced around the block, calling Rachel’s name, frantically searching for her like chickens with our heads cut off. We did this probably for about twenty minutes before returning to our house to check there again. I, in a stroke of brilliance (it was actually just panic at the time), flung open the cupboard under the stairs (Harry Potter style) and out trotted Rachel, looking very much like she wished we would never accidentally lock her in the closet again. I’m fairly certain that she would’ve survived, though, because that’s where we keep the kibbles. That’s actually probably why she was in there in the first place. Sneaky puppy.
~ Hilary Lyon Axle Hatchet