Pratfalling with Penelope

East Kildonan

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 25/09/2024 (580 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It has only happened while slowly cycling down an incline.

 Last week, on a beautifully still and cloudy night while running our dog Penelope, she must have seen a fox, something which sends her into and ecstasy of excitement.

I foolishly tried to stop her lunge, and soon I was on the ground of the descending driveway at my daughter’s house, watching her graceful form disappear into the night. Penelope’s lunge against the leash is always much more forceful at slow speeds, when she can accelerate like a rocket. I suppose some sort of vector-force explanation and the speed and angle of acceleration would explain things, as well as my neglect to tell her “straight ahead” when we slowed.

At higher speeds, Penelope’s infrequent lunges are much weaker and it’s all kinds of fun.

After a while, she came back on her own, silently leaning against my daughter’s front door.

The only other time she tried this antic was in Roxy Park. (And yes, those who grew up in the area know the park at the end of Larson Avenue at Henderson Highway as Roxy, despite its formal name of Elmwood Park – a name which once sent me looking for it on a map)

Roxy Park is very beautiful, especially in twilight, as the coral sun lights up the sky above its riverside tree line. The park’s hilly path is a lovely, paved route that descends towards the river, then runs alongside it.

One summer night, I cycled more slowly than usual on the slope, knowing a deep pothole was upcoming. That was when Penelope was off like a shot. Her 50-plus pounds seemed to be made of spring-loaded steel, and in a second I was off the bike, but still holding onto the leash. Losing Penelope in the darkened park would have been a nightmare, and I hung on with all my might. Without a braced stance, I was soon belly downwards on the ground, still holding on.

“Stop! Stop! No!” I shouted repeatedly, which must have sounded horrible as it pierced through the darkness.

Excluding a multitude of rabbits, the park was empty. A courageous soul in one of the houses adjacent to the park came out to investigate, so I made sure to add some clarity:

“This will teach me to run a dog in the dark! Penelope! Get back here! Now!”

I suppose my undignified rest upon the ground (despite straining my arms) allowed me to recharge and get Penelope under control.

I love beautiful and historic Roxy Park, and so does Penelope.

But it needs more lighting, and the pothole filled in — and we, too, must improve our form!