First 'parenting' scare

Here's a scary moment for you, about which I was going to write in my journal... then realized that's pretty much what the blog is for...

I just took Shadow out for his post-breakfast walk, hoping to get in a decent distance because weather.com was predicting a storm at 10 a.m. It was a little before 9 when we stepped outside to a calm, mild morning with grey clouds. I figured we had some time.

But by the time we walked about 200 feet, those clouds had grown much darker and the wind had picked up. By the time we turned around and reached the side of the house, trees were swinging, the sky was charcoal grey, the rain had begun, and the noise that sounded like planes and lawn tools a minute earlier was undoubtedly thunder. It was clear a large storm was about to hit, and I had a metal key in my pocket and Shadow's leash, which was attached by a metal clip

We needed to get inside, asap. But Shadow had other plans, namely going absolutely mad on the leash, thrashing and jumping and pulling me this way and that. And while this is not an altogether rare occurrence, with thunder thrashing from all around us and trees as tall as buildings pitching in the wind, I was afraid he knew something I didn't... like a tornado was at the other end of the street and making its way over.

Then, amidst all the thrashing and me yelling over the wooshing leaves for him to come towards the front door, the unthinkable happened. He writhed his collar off and started sprinting. He was booking it through the yard, feet from the street. My heart stopped as the multitude of horrible things that could happen flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second. He's going to run away. He's going to be hit by a car. I'll never catch him. He'll be lost in the storm. 

The adrenaline was pumping as I raced after him. He sped toward me and away, thinking it was a game, as the clouds broke and the rain began to pour. By the time I ended up physically straddled on top of him in the front lawn, the storm was fully overhead and I wasn't sure how to get him, sans collar, to the front door. There was no way to hold onto him, and getting his collar on would require me loosening my grip and probably allow him to slip away again. My entire body was fluttering, the bones in my arms shaking.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up the 45-pound thrashing little bugger, carried him across the lawn in a probably very uncomfortable position, straddled him again while I unlocked the door (any neighbor who might have been looking out a window at this time got quite a performance) and tossed him safely into the foyer.

I locked the door behind us and collapsed on the stair -- wanting to both hug and strangle him at the same time -- and let the weak, trembling feeling wash through me.

Judging from his bowed muzzle and melancholy disposition, he knows he did something wrong. If only I could know what's going on in that adorable but little head of his.