A week after my husband and I returned from our honeymoon, we welcomed our first dog into our family. Bella was just a year old and already had been in three different homes prior to ours. We cherished her throughout her life. Bella stood by me during my miscarriages and celebrated when we brought our sons home. She moved with us from our first apartment to various places until we could finally buy a home with a large fenced yard and a special dog door just for her. At fourteen, we said our goodbyes beneath the shade of the pear tree outside our bedroom window—her favorite spot for hours of bird-watching and lazy barking at squirrels.
I’ve never considered myself a “dog person,” but Bella held a special place in my heart. After her passing, I imagined we’d take a break from pet ownership, but mere days later, I realized that wasn’t feasible. The kids were heartbroken, my husband was downcast, and our home felt emptier without the sound of her little paws on our hardwood floors.
I set some conditions for our next dog: we would adopt from a shelter, she should be small-ish, housebroken, and ideally, non-shedding. I was prepared to wait for the right fit.
Just two days later, my husband sent me a picture from our local shelter. This little pup was eight weeks old, far from housebroken, likely to grow medium to large, and her wiry fur was sure to shed everywhere. Despite having browsed countless puppies without feeling a connection, something about her tiny face instantly captured my heart.
The shelter received hundreds of applications from all over the country. When we visited her, my boys were in tears when we had to leave. It took every ounce of strength not to join them. The thought of her spending another night in the shelter was unbearable. I promised the boys that if we weren’t selected, we would find another dog soon.
But the shelter did choose us. Out of so many applicants, we were the fortunate ones.
Our girl, whom we named Luna, has been with us for over two years now. She blossomed from the cutest puppy into the most adorable adult dog. Her wiry fur grew into a chaotic mess, and despite our grooming efforts, she always seems to find a way to get dirty again. Luna has a knack for stealing my dish towels and my kids’ toys. She even lets me style her hair in ponytails and has always been gentle. We’ve never heard her bark indoors; she truly is the sweetest dog we could ask for.
Except for one small detail.
She’s a runner. And she’s incredibly FAST. If she spots an open door, she’s out like a flash, disappearing before you can blink. She usually comes back, but it’s anyone’s guess how long she’ll be gone or what she’s up to.
Fortunately, she doesn’t dig or jump fences. (Well, there was that one little incident last spring when she found a gap in the fence. She rolled around in mud puddles until her ID tag fell off, then decided to pay a visit to our new neighbors down the street, who mistook her for a stray and gave her a bath. I was mortified, but she smelled amazing after that.)
Luna has a secret weapon: my son Jake, who is almost five and clearly doesn’t know how to close a door properly. Luna knows her best chance for an afternoon of freedom is to wait for him to leave the front door ajar. She shows remarkable patience. When she hears my car pull into the driveway, she bolts outside to watch us from the fence. If my husband is with me, she stays put; one firm “Luna!” from him is enough to send her scampering back home.
But if I’m alone with the kids, she sneaks through the dog door and bolts for freedom at lightning speed. Before I even realize what’s happening, she’s three houses down, barking at a bulldog named Max.
Max happily jumps his fence to join her, and the grumpy old chihuahua from next door often tags along. I’ve even spotted them wandering with a cat. It’s like a scene from “Oliver and Company,” but not nearly as charming, and oh-so-embarrassing.
Just last night, I noticed that Max’s owner installed an invisible fence. I can’t help but think Luna had a hand in that. (Okay, I’m not wondering. She’s definitely to blame.)
In the two years since Luna joined us, I’ve chased her on foot while pulling a toddler in a wagon. I’ve waddled through our neighborhood while pregnant, frantically calling for her and tearing up due to raging pregnancy hormones. Once, I even stood on the porch shaking a box of treats, hoping to lure her back with my makeshift maraca.
The lowest point in my dog-chasing saga was undoubtedly the time I drove through the neighborhood at 5 mph, holding hot dogs out the driver’s window, hoping she would catch a whiff and hop back in the car.
Last spring, Jake threw open the door to greet his brother getting off the school bus, and Luna seized the opportunity. Instead of returning home, Jake threw his backpack into the yard and dashed after her.
I tossed Jake (and my newborn daughter!) into the van and sped off after Henry, but he had vanished. I lost it, driving up and down the street, calling out his name, convinced he had fallen into an old-timey well like in a Lassie episode. Luna is sweet, but she’s no heroic Collie. She would absolutely not be alerting the authorities.
After a tense interaction with a neighbor who thought I was yelling at him instead of searching for my child, I finally spotted them both trotting out from behind a stranger’s house, with Luna obediently beside my beaming son. It was the only time in my life I both laughed and cried simultaneously, like a cartoon villain. My kids and the dog were completely terrified.
Luna’s latest adventure involved bolting out the door while still damp from a bath. Without her collar, she spent the night in someone’s garage while I consoled my sobbing children, who feared she was gone forever. Thanks to social media, we located her the next day. Thankfully, she’s been home without incident for a couple of months now. Perhaps that night confined in a strange garage was Luna’s version of “Scared Straight.”
I know this is where the overly passionate dog owners might judge me, believing I should find a way to outsmart her every time. Trust me, I’ve tried. She’s fast, and I’m easily distracted. We’re doing the best we can. Luna is warm, well-fed, and adored by our family of five. She has a fenced-in yard, a dog door, a dog house, and everything a pup could wish for. She’s just a little mischievous and loves to run. Can’t blame her for trying.
Luna is incredibly well-behaved in every other aspect. She’s gentle, loving, and an absolute joy around the kids. Sometimes she rests her head on my lap while I write, providing a calming presence.
It’s hard to believe that sweet little pup is the same rebellious dog who occasionally gathers a motley crew and spends evenings running amok in the neighborhood.
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Summary:
Emma shares her amusing and chaotic experiences as a dog owner to her mischievous dog, Luna, who has a knack for escaping and causing mayhem. Despite the challenges, Emma reflects on the joy and love Luna brings to her family.
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