Dirty Face & a Werewolf

Most of you know by now I'm a crazy dog lady who avidly takes part in rescuing and as mentioned previously, my latest one is a wolf named Maximus who much to my dismay and disappointment does not turn into Jacob from Twilight at the stroke of midnight.

With all that said, I've come to bond some with this oversized beast in the past few weeks meanwhile trying to find him a loving adoptive home. His potty training skills put my dogs' to shame and whenever he howls by the door I know he's going to lay down the business in my neighbor's front lawn which is awesome.

The only troublesome issue with Maximus is that he's a big boy and I've yet to fully master the art of walking him like I do my real dogs.

I've somehow gotten accostumed to semi-handling Max on the leash and holding it tightly enough so that I don't end up on the floor without my front teeth, choking on gravel as Max mauls an innocent child two feet away from me.

Unlike my dogs who just stared at me stupidly when I arrived home Wednesday afternoon from Buenos Aires, Max was jumping all over the place doing a happy dance and even though it was pouring outside in typical Miami fashion, I couldn't deny him a walk as he pulled on my t-shirt and dragged me to the door.

I quickly threw on some flip flops and off we went.

By the way he forced me forward, I could tell Max was beside himself with agitation, pulling with all his might and panting heavily as I struggled to have the upper hand whilst recalling Cesar Millan's tips on proper dog walking. Soon enough we reached a nice pace and Max begrudgingly surrendered to his master (that's me by the way), our steps synchronizing nicely as the rain soaked me and mascara ran away from my eyes.

This isn't so bad, I thought, finally relaxing a bit and enjoying the lake view on my right.

But then:

Soon as I saw the damn thing I was hoping it would run off when he spotted Max but instead, it just sort of hopped around ahead of us, provoking a little game of tag. Luckily my werewolf had yet to spot him but in a matter of seconds all that changed. Sidenote: Trying to run after a dog who's running after a cat who's running for the hell of it on a slippery sidewalk in flip flops is not as fun as it sounds.

Ninja cat ran into the grassy area towards the lake and I tripped on a branch and fell face-first into the muddy ground. I knew if I let go of the leash I'd lose Max forever and there was no way in hell I was willing to let that happen after all I went through to rescue him in the first place. I laid there cursing the day I decided loving and rescuing animals was a respectable hobby, a death grip on Max's leash as he pulled with all his might, slowly inching me forward on the grass until he realized he wasn't going anywhere.

The aftermath?

I'm aware that is possibly the worst picture of me ever taken with my Blackberry but I had to show you guys the proof of my brush with death. Also, my mother says that soil is a very good exfoliant but I'd rather stick with this.

Max found a home two days later and I still have all my front teeth, which is fucking great if you ask me (and I should know because there was a time when I was missing them). Buuuuuut, we'll save that post for another day.