Dogs' breakfast: that's Cooper

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BORIS MINKEVICH / WINNIPEG FREE PRESS archives Fortunately for Cooper, he�s tough to bite down on. (BORIS MINKEVICH)

What we had in mind was a fun, leisurely stroll through the park with our three dogs.

What we got, instead, was a terrifying encounter involving gnashing teeth and enough adrenaline to induce heart failure in a rhinoceros.

It all began last week, in the middle of my two-week vacation, when, suddenly and without warning, I decided it would be a brilliant idea for my college-age daughter and I to take our dogs for a cruise in Assiniboine Park, which is right beside our house.

The first thing I did was slide off the couch, wander down to my daughter's room and fling open her door, at which point I was crushed by an avalanche of dirty laundry, magazines, CDs and empty makeup containers that fill her bedroom from floor to ceiling.

After checking myself for injuries, I located my daughter in the debris field and persuaded her to join the dogs and her dad on a healthy walk, wherein we could bond like the happy families we see on TV sitcoms.

Not long after, there we were, sweating in the afternoon sun, grunting at each other, leading our three hounds on a slow-motion trek across one of the soccer fields in our beloved park.

I'm not kidding about the slow-motion part. When we walk, our dogs are slower than airport luggage. This is partly because, like all dogs in the world, they are determined to do two things: 1) Pee on every tree they encounter; and 2) Smell every tree in case another dog has already peed on it.

But the main reason is the fact our main dog, a 13-year-old sandbag-shaped basset hound named Cooper, has been hammered with arthritis and briefly lost the use of his hind legs a couple of years ago.

He's able to walk under his own steam now, but moves like a semi-trailer on black ice, and every once in a while his rear end will swing around out of control and almost smack him in the face.

Anyway, we were trudging glacier-like across the field when my daughter suddenly bent down and scooped up the two smaller dogs -- Zoe, a miniature wiener dog, and Mr. X, a tangle of white fur the size of a mature grapefruit we inherited a few months ago.

Before I could ask what she was doing, I glanced up and spotted two huge dogs racing across the field towards us. As they closed in, I realized it was two boxers the size of recreational vehicles. Hot on their heels, shouting their pets' names in vain, were two frantic young women about my daughter's age.

I wasn't thrilled to see a pair of large, unleashed dogs bearing down on us at warp speed, but I wasn't in a cold sweat. I'm not the Dog Whisperer, but I'm comfortable with all kinds of dogs. Typically, big dogs say hello by slathering you with their tongues to convey the notion you have a pleasing salty taste.

That's not what happened to us. Fortunately, the two rogue dogs ignored my daughter, who was clutching our small dogs like a pair of footballs. Unfortunately, they pounced on my happy-go-lucky aging basset hound the way a fat guy pounces on a bacon cheeseburger.

The out-of-control dogs began chomping viciously on the back of Cooper's neck, which, thankfully, is comprised of loose, saggy skin and fur that is difficult for another animal to sink its teeth into.

Cooper was defenceless, so, in a panic, I aimed a desperate kick at the thickly-muscled hindquarters of one of the snarling, biting boxers, but that proved as useful as spitting in the wind.

"PLEASE GET CONTROL OF YOUR DOGS!" I howled as the two young women arrived. Out of breath from the pursuit, the young women grabbed their dogs' collars and, with some effort, yanked them off my bedraggled basset, who endured the surprise attack with his trademark calm demeanour.

It was obvious the young women were mortified by what their dogs had just done. They were shocked and, as they finally put leashes on their pets, couldn't stop apologizing.

I personally was gracious. OK, I'm lying. I YELLED it was illegal to have dogs off leash in the park and then BELLOWED that if your dogs don't (bad word) come when you (very bad word) call them and act aggressively towards other animals, YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE THEM OFF LEASH IN PUBLIC!

In the end, Cooper and our small dogs were just fine. I was pumped with adrenaline, but fortunately for the repentant owners of the unleashed hounds, my bark is a lot worse than my bite.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition August 22, 2012 A2