The Great Dane Escape – "What She Said"
Part 1
Allow me to explain this story correctly. There was never a "Great Dane escape." Humans can be so silly. Small dogs get into a little trouble. With us, we accidentally summon the police. Together, we're 305 pounds of jowls, feelings and absolute chaos, and on this night, we had a blast!
Before I continue, I'm Sister Mary Catherine — "MC" if you've earned it. I'm 130 pounds of athletic grace, discipline and exceptional decision-making. I kind of resemble a nun, which explains the name. Today, I glide through life with confidence, but it wasn't always so pretty. I'm a rags-to-riches Dane for sure, and I'm a grateful, lucky dog because my moms never gave up on me.
The world used to feel too big. My littermates and I were tossed out. Survival was all I knew, and I only knew that because my littermates told me so. I followed them and did exactly as they said because they knew more than I did. Then one day, it all changed. We were separated, and I lost who I had always been. Who am I without my siblings?
Adoption was scary at first. I remember trying to make myself small by burying myself face-first in the couch. I hoped it was all a bad dream. I didn't think the world could be kind, but thankfully, I was gifted the kindest, most patient humans to help me trust again. They loved me. They bribed me with treats. Then one day, they got me something I didn't know I needed: a little brother.
The day he plopped out of the car, all shiny and confused, I immediately claimed him as MINE!
However, I'd like to file a complaint because Mom specifically requested the biggest male Dane our rescuers had, but she failed to request an ounce of common sense. He is such a doofus with his Batman eyes and heart on his crown.
Anyway, back to the day you're asking about.
It started innocently enough. My little brother, Doc, "accidentally" opened the front door. I heard the click and saw freedom. Meanwhile, he's looking at me through his Batman eyes like he just discovered fire. Rolling my eyes but with my heart singing, I said, "I know what to do. Let's go!"
We took off, but we left the door open. We galloped and played like kangaroos. We conducted neighborhood patrol, did a perimeter sweep and inspected squirrels, mailboxes and smells. (BACON!)
We had everything under control.
Then the police arrived.
Friends with cookies? Nope.
It seems there was a concerned citizen because someone let the horses out of the stable. They helped us back home and made sure the house was safe. Of course it was. We had just left. That's all that happened!
We're safe and secure these days. Doc still follows me everywhere. He nibbles my ears, steals my personal space and stays on my heels, and I tolerate every minute of it.
The funny thing about surviving the streets is that you spend your whole life believing safety comes from having one pack. Turns out, sometimes your pack is one oversized little brother who thinks you hung the moon and two humans who never gave up.
That is what makes me one lucky dog.