We create chaos. Katie, Kimberlie, and me. Always. And I haven't quite figured out why.
But I know it can't be me.
There's no chaos when Corey and I are out together.
No chaos at my weekly ladies bible study either.
Unless someone brings brownies.
So, ok, I could technically be the reason our outings are so memorable.
But in my defense (and Kimberlie's since I blame most of our shenanigans on her bright ideas [Katie is too rational to cause problems]) any time you give three girls four unruly dogs and put them in nature, funny things are going to happen.
Like poop. Poop is inevitable. And responsible owners pick it up. Unless the forward progression of a 75 pound dog decides otherwise. Or when two dogs take you and your two arms in opposite directions. In other words, when poop happens, when anything happens, with four dogs you have little control.
Especially when one of those dogs is a 112 pound wall. Hey, what do you call a 112 pound Rottweiler? Ma'am. And you say it sweetly or she looks at you with crazy eyes.
But anyway, on Saturday we decided to take all four dogs, my Oliver, Katie's Mika (ma'am), Kimberlie's Jubilie, and my mom's Maggie, on a walk along the canal in Glens Falls. It's a nice little trail, not a lot of traffic, and plenty of room to fetch sticks in the water. Oliver played in the water, too. I kid. Seriously, the water was, like, 40 degrees.
Oliver and Mika walked/ran/swam/shook off dirty canal water alongside us off their leashes while Maggie and Jubilie stayed on theirs. And all was well. Until a jogger showed up. Then the chase began. I chased Oliver, Mika chased Oliver, Katie chased Mika, Jubilie chased Katie, Maggie chased a butterfly and Kimberlie's arms got pulled off. The dogs were corralled, the jogger passed, and all was well again. Until a dog and his owner ran by. I chased Oliver, Mika chased Oliver, Katie chased Mika....and so on.
This was, by far, the least of our problems.
"So where are you guys going?"
"The canal. It's that trail I used to run, back when I used to run."
"Is he going in the water."
"Ok. Just make sure he doesn't get too dirty."
"He'll be fine. I mean, what can he get into?"
Famous last words.
A swamp. That's what he could get into. And he did. Right after Katie uttered these last words:
"Maybe you should keep him out of the water now so he'll dry by the time we get back to the cars."
Less than a second later I see Oliver run full speed, as if called by the stank of the swamp, into the heart of the muck, coating the entire underside of him in thick, black, rotten mud.
Channeling my inner telenovela victim I screamed bloody murder.....
"NOOOooooooooooAAAHHHHHHH!! Dios mioooooo!!!" (hand to forehead)
I ran around. Frantically looking for a stick.
"STICK, I need a STICK! Help me FIND. A. STICK!!!"
I found a stick.
And then I waved it around like an idiot to lure my stinky monster out of the goop before he had a chance to marinate in it. It worked. Dog and stick found their way into the canal and I stood there speechless, mentally reviewing my simple instructions from Corey, crafting a believable story of villains and nudists and heroic rescues by fearless canines.
But then my concentration broke, and I saw Kimberlie gasping for air. Apparently I caused quite a scene. She stood there hunched over with tears in her eyes and a little pee running down her leg.
Yes, pee. Oliver and my perfectly timed comedic routine caused Kimberlie to wet herself.
And then I almost wet myself.
And then Katie rolled her eyes.
And then we chased our dogs to let a family bike by.
And then we walked back to the cars. Pee spots and all.