Chico's New Leash

Got a new leash for my dog. I didn't like it.

I purchased a new leash online for my little dog Chico. It’s one of those extender leashes, you know, the kind where the dog can run about 15 feet before it pulls taught. Usually these leashes can be found with lengths between 10 and 20 feet, but the Chinese off-brand that I purchased for only $5 said “super mega maximum length unlimited.” I figured that was just their way of saying, “it’s really long.”

The leash was delivered to my door this morning in asbestos packaging, just in time for Chico’s walk. I carefully removed the packaging and placed it in the recycle bin. Holding the leash up to Chico I said, “You ready for a walk, buddy? Walk outside? You wanna’ go for a walk?” (I say the word “walk” as many times as I can because it’s fun to watch the dog’s excitement build. He runs in little circles and whines to let me know that, yes, he’s ready for a walk.)

I placed Chico in his harness, attached the harness to the leash, and situated the leash into my firm grip. Opened the door and away we went.

Chico stepped onto the porch, sniffed the air, and then took off down the sidewalk at a sprinter’s pace. “Hold up, buddy!” I yelled as I pressed the lock button that is supposed to stop the leash from gaining length, but the button broke off and fell to the ground. “Stupid off-brand crud…. Chico, stay!” But he was already three miles down the road, I could barely see him, and the leash grew longer accordingly.

I ran several blocks, trying to catch up to Chico but he was so much faster than me. Every intersection I crossed was backed up with vehicles occupied by angry drivers, blocked by the leash. “I’m sorry about this!” I shouted as I ran by. I thought I was gaining on Chico until I saw him run past me. He must have ran around the entire town before lapping me. “Chico, stop! Stay!” But he didn’t listen.

Chico kept running around town, lapping me several hundred times. The leash snaked its way through every neighborhood, blocking traffic and locking people inside their homes where it pressed tightly against their doors. This is so embarrassing, I thought.

Eventually, when Chico ran past me for the five-hundredth time, he had caused the leash to pin me against a window at somebody’s home. With every consecutive lap the leash squeezed me tighter and tighter. With my face pressed firmly against the glass I could see the horrified faces of people inside. They were watching me turn a shade of blue that, under other circumstances, I would have considered quite lovely. I was suffocating. I could hear car horns blaring and muffled screams from people locked inside their homes all across town. I tried to say, “Gosh dang it, Chico” but it came out as an inaudible sigh.

Without other foreseeable options, I used my last ounce of energy to wriggle my hand into my pocket and grab the Leatherman multitool that I bought myself for Christmas. I had to be very careful not to drop it as I slid it out of my pocket. The intense pressure of the leash made it nearly impossible for me to move, but I was able to fumble open the blade. I maneuvered the blade against the leash until - SNAP - the leash was severed and precious air rushed back into my lungs.

The recoil of the leash as it re-spooled was extraordinary. It jerked back and fourth, flying through the town like an unmanned fire-hose, slamming into vehicles and shattering windows. Damage is estimated to be in the millions of dollars.

I called the company that sells the leash and they said that they can’t issue a refund because I intentionally damaged it. It sucks, there goes my $5. Apparently I need to attend a city council meeting later this week to determine the next course of action… as if I didn’t already have a full schedule. Such is life, I guess. I think I’ll stick with the 15 foot leash from now on.