Sally Breslin: My Life: IT'S RAINING, IT'S RAINING

Monday was one of those days when I should have stayed in bed. Actually, most of my days are days when I should have stayed in bed, but Monday was worse than the others.

It all began a few days before when I once again tried to take my rottweiler, Wynter (a.k.a. The Devil Dog From Hell), for a walk. The problem with trying to walk her on a leash is I never know when I suddenly will be faced with “death by dragging.” If, as they say, the human body has approximately 640 muscles, then I figure Wynter has about 3,000.

Anyway, after walking her and nearly ending up with my front teeth embedded in a pine tree after she spotted a squirrel in it, I decided the time finally had come to call a professional dog trainer for her…and maybe an oral surgeon for myself.

The trainer I contacted gave us an appointment for an evaluation on Monday at 3 o’clock. She told me she was located upstairs from a dog-grooming shop in a plaza in Concord.

So that Monday, Wynter and I headed to Concord. During the drive over, I’ll admit I was nervous, picturing the poor trainer, Wynter’s leash in her hand, lying flat on her face on the ground with my dog sitting on her back. I didn’t know if I would eventually end up with a well-trained dog…or a lawsuit.

The weather that day was terrible, with rain coming down in sheets. Even worse, Wynter, who hates car rides, was panting so heavily, she steamed up all of the windows, which made trying to see where I was going a constant challenge. Finally, I saw what I thought was the trainer’s plaza up ahead and made a right turn into the entrance…straight into a giant pot-hole that was filled with water. I felt the front end of my car drop hard, then heard my tire going “whop, whop,” as I drove into the parking lot. I parked the car and, holding my breath, jumped out to check what I already knew I was going to see…a rubber pancake.

“Noooo!” I cried. “Not here! Not now! And not in the pouring rain!”

But my luck was about to become even worse. I checked all of the stores in the plaza. There was no dog-grooming shop in it. By then, it was 2:55, so I ran into one of the businesses and asked if anyone knew where the dog-grooming shop was located. I received blank looks until one man finally said, “I’m pretty sure it’s in the next plaza down from here.”

I thanked him and ran back outside. I could see the other plaza, but it was about the equivalent of a big city block away. I didn’t have the trainer’s number with me, so I couldn’t call her. At that point, I knew there was only one alternative.

I was going to have to take the Devil Dog From Hell on a leash and run over to the trainer’s with her.

Not only were there a gazillion distractions facing us in the area between the two plazas, all of which could result in my being dragged face-down through a bunch of puddles, Wynter loves to chase cars. And there we were, on one of the busiest roads in Concord. I pretty much figured I was doomed to end up in traction for the next month or so.

I put Wynter on her leash and then did something I haven’t done in years – I ran to the other plaza. Wynter was so busy running with me, she never even noticed all of the distractions. By the time I reached the trainer’s building, I was huffing and puffing and soaked to the skin. I also presented the woman with a wet, dripping dog. Not exactly a great first impression.

The first thing Wynter spotted at the trainer’s was a good-sized mirror sitting on the floor and propped against the wall. She saw her reflection in it and went nuts – barking frantically and lunging at the dog in the mirror. I rolled my eyes and wondered how long it was going to take before we were asked to leave and never come back.

The trainer, calm and smiling, introduced herself, but I barely could hear her over Wynter’s barking.

“Um, maybe you should pick up that mirror,” I told her.

She smiled slyly at me. “No, that’s why it’s there. It tells me how dogs react to other dogs.”

“Great,” I said. “Mine’s already flunked.”

“Quite the opposite,” she said. “She’s acting normally. I also can tell she’s not aggressive.”

She could have fooled me.

I hate to say it, but I only half-listened to everything the woman was saying because I was so worried about my car. Did I, I wondered, even have a spare tire with me? My car is a hatchback, so I guessed the tire had to be under the floor somewhere. And then I was worried about how long it would take AAA to come change the flat once I called. Already, it was nearly 4:00 and I knew I had to get to Sears to buy a new tire before 6:00, when the automotive department closed.

The dog trainer demonstrated to me how to get Wynter walking properly on a "loose" leash. As she led her back and forth across the huge room, I vaguely noticed that Wynter actually was listening to her commands – and was receiving tons of treats in return. But other than that, I had no idea what was going on. My mind was too preoccupied. For one thing, I was worried about what I was going to do with Wynter, both when AAA was changing the tire, and when Sears was installing the new one. Wynter wasn’t very socialized, so to her, strangers were something dangerous and sinister – something to shred.

I finally apologized to the trainer and told her I really had to get going and call AAA or I would end up stranded with my dog all night in Concord. She was very understanding and told me I could leave Wynter with her while AAA fixed my tire, if I’d like. But, she emphasized, I had to come back for her before 5:00 because there was a class with a bunch of dogs coming in – and she didn’t feel Wynter would do well in a group situation yet. Relieved, I thanked her and took off running back to the other plaza.

If possible, it was raining even harder outside. I dashed through puddles that were up to my ankles, with the water about the temperature of a glacial ice cap. I finally reached my car, jumped in and called AAA. By then, it was 4:15. I prayed the guy would arrive in record time, so I actually could drive over to get Wynter before the 5:00 deadline.

AAA arrived at 4:55.

“Hi!” I said to the guy. “Here’s my car and there’s the flat. Now I have to run. My dog has to be picked up before 5:00! I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

I’m not sure he knew what the heck I was babbling about because he gave me a “Great – I’m dealing with a crazy lady!” kind of look, but he nodded, and I took off running again, back to the trainer’s.

By then, little children who were going to their dance class in that plaza were filling the parking lot. I wondered how Wynter was going to react to throngs of unsuspecting little bodies, all of them potential pouncing victims. I had visions of her knocking down the poor kids like bowling pins.

I ran into the trainer’s place, grabbed Wynter, and once again, ran through the parking lot, back to the other plaza. I was pretty sure that at any moment I was going to collapse from a heart attack, land face-down in one of the puddles and drown. Heck, I hadn’t done that much running since the day I was chased by my grandmother’s bull…back when I was 12.

By the time Wynter and I arrived back at my car, the AAA guy had found my spare tire – some emaciated-looking little donut of a thing – and put it on. He’d also tossed my dripping-wet flat tire into the back of my car, where Wynter had to ride.

By 5:15, I finally was off to Sears. I happened to glance at myself in the rear-view mirror and gasped. I looked like a drowning victim. My hair was drenched and dripping, and my bangs were hanging down to my nose. My mascara was running, and I could feel my soggy shirt clinging to me in places I really didn’t want it to cling. I felt like hiding in the car, preferably somewhere under the seat. The last place I wanted to go, especially looking the way I did, was a public place like a mall.

By the time I walked into the automotive department at Sears, I was pretty much a basket case. Even worse, I resembled one.

“I need a tire!” I cried to the poor employee, my voice choking. “But my dog is in the car and she’s not good with people, and I don’t know what to do with her! And we’re both cold and wet and…”

“Calm down, now,” the guy said, his tone soothing. “We’ll take care of everything. I’ll get you a new tire, and we have a nice waiting area here where you and your dog can sit, dry off and relax. You’ll be all set in no time at all, I promise.”

I felt like hugging him.

So Wynter and I finally made it home safely. By then, my hair had started to frizz. I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw Albert Einstein with raccoon eyes looking back at me (without the mustache, however). I’m pretty sure the image will give me nightmares for weeks to come.

The next day, I took Wynter for a walk and she once again darted off after something – this time, falling leaves.

So I definitely will take her back to the dog trainer’s – but not to be professionally trained. No, I figure I can just run her back and forth across that darned parking lot a few dozen times until she learns to ignore all of the distractions.

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