Two steps back

The road to perdition is paved with good intentions. What's more, you don't notice the roadside signs until it is too late.

I had some errands to run and (here is the good intention) I took Larsen along with me. Along the way, I parked near a tract of land completely vacant other than a pointless dead-end street and a faded sign optimistically advertising a bustling mixed-use complex.

It wouldn't hurt to take a walk through the field, would it? Isn't that a good intention? We set off on our little hike and Johnson Ferry road soon disappeared behind us. For all intents, we were in a field, so I dropped the leash and watched the singularly beautiful sight of a spaniel springing through knee-high grass. I called for Larsen and he trotted up, so I unclipped his leash. Off he went. He popped over the black silt fences, and he even came when called.

At least for a while he did. And this is where I sped right through the yellow and red lights on the road to perdition.

Larsen got bored with me and decided to explore on his own. I had no leash, no e-collar, and really nothing but goodwill to entice him back and of course he ignored me totally. I could see days and weeks of "here boys" reversing themselves right out of his system as he gamboled about and basically challenged me to make his day.

I finally caught up to him, and considered walking him back to the scene of the crime, as I had been taught. But after corkscrewing around the field, it was impossible for me to take him all the way back to the point where he first misbehaved. Moreover, he had come up to me somewhat on his own, since I was silent and not calling him any longer. So (I reasoned) how could I punish him for returning to me? We more or less agreed that I'd walk him part of the way back (I got him by the collar and throat, lifted his front legs, and marched him partway back to where I initially called him to give him the message. He whined about my inhumanity, and I reminded him that he was not human). Then we stopped. I let him go and told him to "hup". I stepped away and made him come to me from about 6 feet.

We did the "hup" and "here boy" three more times. Each time with a little chuck under the chin as his reward. Then I clipped him up and we hiked back to the car.

It was all I could do not to simply brain the little mutt over my own frustration of having let this happen. I couldn't help myself in wanting to watch a spaniel in the field.