Note to self: Hold Clover’s leash tightly. This morning, I didn’t do that.
When we passed an empty lot that leads to a field, a group of white-tailed deer ran past, and Clover took off after them. I watched her pink leash escape into the darkness.
Immediately, I squeezed Polo’s black leash, but she wasn’t as interested in the chase. She just wanted to look tough to a bunch of grass-eaters.
I stayed calm. I knew Clover couldn’t catch a deer. I knew she’d give up, which she did after a couple of minutes. She didn’t come straight to me but busied herself nearby with something dead in the middle of the road.
“Clover!” I called, and she walked over, allowing me to grab the leash again, which I held tightly the rest of the way home.
