Last night, during Bonnie Rae’s final nature call of the evening, I had one of those “it could only happen to me” moments.
Picture this: flashlight in one hand, plastic bag in the other, and no leash on Bonnie Rae.
Yes, we have the rule. All dogs must be on a leash. Every apartment everywhere has this rule. When Buddy was alive, we were model citizens—multiple walks a day, always leashed, probably deserved a gold star and maybe a parade.
But Bonnie Rae? Bonnie Rae is not exactly an adventurer. She is afraid of leaves, breezes, and possibly her own shadow. Her “walks” consist of stepping outside, handling her business with impressive efficiency, and heading right back in like she left the stove on. So lazy (or overconfident?) me thought, “What could possibly go wrong?”
Cue dramatic music.
We are halfway to the dog park when—BAM—we run straight into one of the apartment managers… who is casually walking his rather large Shepherd mix.
Of course he is.
Now, the only redeeming part of this entire situation is that Bonnie Rae, who is usually suspicious of everything, suddenly turns into a social butterfly. After being exposed to my son’s well-mannered Labs in Galveston, she marched right up to this dog like she belonged there and started sniffing like she was conducting a formal inspection.
Thankfully, his dog was equally polite and allowed the interaction without filing a complaint.
Meanwhile, I’m standing there thinking, “Of all nights… of ALL nights…”
Because here’s the part that makes this story even better (or worse, depending on your perspective).
Just two days earlier, I had emailed management about a water leak in the courtyard, like a responsible resident. But then, because apparently I like to make things interesting, I followed up with a second email suggesting we might consider weight restrictions on dogs.
Yes. I did that.
My reasoning? In my vast and highly scientific experience of apartment living, the bigger the dog… the bigger the… lack of enthusiasm for cleanup. I thoughtfully suggested we “grandfather in” current large dogs, but maybe limit future ones.
Very reasonable. Very logical.
Also very unfortunate, considering I had absolutely no idea that this manager lives on-site, with a large dog.
So there I am:
• Breaking the leash rule
• Standing in front of a manager
• Whose dog would not pass my newly proposed policy
Honestly, at that point, all I could do was apologize, call Bonnie Rae, and retreat to the dog park with what little dignity I had left.
Now, our apartment does have rules—leashes, no smoking in common areas, clean up after your dog—all with a nice little $250 fine attached. So yes, I am guilty.
Will the manager turn me in? Who knows.
But if he does, I suppose I’ll just have to accept my fate and start using the leash like the law-abiding citizen I clearly am not after dark.
More later ...
