Dino, Our Runaround Dog

Dino, our sweet, handsome runaround dog. Rest in joy, my friend.

We said “goodbye” to our sweet, handsome, noble Dino this week. I’ll have more to write later about his passing. For now, I wanted to share this happy adventure from the summer of 2015

When Dino joined our pack, he had a habit of bolting. After a few months, it seemed we were making progress. But he’s still giving me gray hair. Here’s just one of the adventures of our runaround dog.

I’ve craved an early morning, long walk with Dino for weeks. He needs the extra activity and I need the exercise. The weather or schedules or sleeping in has undone my plans these past few weeks. Not today though.

I woke early and slipped the dogs out of the bedroom without disturbing Susan. My plan was to feed both, take Daisy out for a quick pee, and then go on a long jaunt with Dino. 

My plans were undone by Daisy’s mournful gaze. “Take me too, Dad,” she seemed to say. I can’t resist those big eyes. 

So, I packed water for myself and the air can to curb Dino’s barking. I hooked up both dogs and we started down Roslyn.

My plan was to take a left on Summit, but the deer were up early (the early deer get the acorn?) and one of them was staring me down. What we’ve heard from friends and neighbors is that you have to beware of the staring deer. It’s usually a buck and they will often charge. So we three trotted past the deer, on down Roslyn. All seemed well.

We headed up Van Buren, toward downtown and Dino decided it was time for him to poop. Picture this, I’m leaning over to pick up his poop. To do so, I transfer the end of Daisy’s leash -- the big, bulky retractable reel -- to the same hand in which I’m holding Dino’s leash. I fish a plastic bag from my pocket and bend over. Just for an instant my grip on Dino’s leash loosens, he pulls, he bolts, the leash slips from my grasp, and he’s gone. 

Down Van Buren, right on Barrington Avenue, left at the Depot, and through the Depot park in the center of town. Daisy and I are giving chase as best we can. I know I can’t keep up, but I’m trying to keep him in my line of sight.

And I swear at least twice, he looked back at me as if to ask, “Hey Dad, are you coming?”

By the time he reached the corner of River and Jackson Street, I was gassed. Daisy and I jog, barely, to the spot where he turned right on Jackson toward the Fox River. Keep in mind, it’s just past 6 a.m. on a Sunday. There’s no one around except for me, Daisy, and runaway Dino. Then a gray pickup pulls to a stop at Jackson coming from the way Dino ran. 

I start to ask the driver if he’s seen a dog. Before I could, he rolled down his window and said, “Hey, are you looking for a big black poodle?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, he’s down the street in a parking lot and it looks like he’s waiting on someone.”

I thank him and head down the street. Before I can take two steps, here comes Dino up the street toward me looking way too pleased with himself.

Now, I’ve seen this trick before. He’s gotten off leash and ran back toward both Susan and me only to bolt past us and continue the merry chase. 

I braced myself to try to tackle him, but this time was different. He stopped just in front of me, sat down, and let me take his leash. I alternately praised and cursed him, but was so grateful that he returned. 

The three of us headed back to the picnic tables near the Depot so I could get a drink of water and get my pulse back somewhere near normal.

Since then, Dino has settled (somewhat) and we have had no runaway or run-around incidents. And I’m thankful that this time he at least met me halfway. 

Stay safe, stay well, and keep a tight grip on the leash. I know I will. And Dino, I miss you, buddy. Long may you run.