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Of course my ambitious, medal-seeking 14 year-old son signed up with TJ, our
Labrador-Retriever. When my son signs ‘himself’ up for a race, it somehow always
implicates ‘us.’
signed up for a race, do not lose your dog.
from the house, we went through a final check list. Car keys, check; five-page
intensely detailed medical form to prove the athletic prowess of our dog (not
our son) signed by none other than Ra’anana’s chief veterinarian, check;
freshly brewed coffee, check; water bottle, check; dog leash; check; dog?
whistling his special call. No tail-wagging dog appeared. I checked every room
and TJ’s favorite sleeping spots. No dog.
realized we were so busy with our own activities, we could not even remember having a dog. And now the star of the show was missing.
one way. My husband frantically ran the other way. In the midst of this chaos,
I sat on the front step sipping my coffee, feebly calling out TJ’s name and secretly
hoping he would not appear. A few minutes later, TJ strolled up the driveway in
such a chilled fashion, he looked as if like he been hanging out at the local
beit café. He had also non-chalantly bypassed my son and husband’s search team
efforts.
onto the dog for dear
life. The search and rescue team returned home and we piled into the car.
day before you leave.
low. Very low. We had been eyeing that tire for weeks and did nothing other than
comment on it. Now that we actually had to be somewhere fast, we realized this
tire was not going to make it.
understood that Israeli gas stations are not well designed. Perhaps this is
because there is so little room in this teeny country, everything is squished
in. The air pump was pushed tightly into a corner right beside a gas pump. And since everyone in
Ra’anana was filling their cars up at that very moment, the air pump was
blocked by a gas guzzling car.
Undeterred, my husband simply parked the car in the main driveway, blocking all
cars and pulled and tugged on the hose until it reached; that is, until the fierce honking
started. By the time we reached the highway, dog intact and tire inflated, I
was finished for the day.
Facebook, “What is the address?”
He gave us a blank stare.
“Plug it into Waze,”
we commanded him. (Our GPS system is our line to survival in this country.)
reached your destination.” I looked around and did not see a single dog. Our
destination was an empty parking lot. We shot daggers at our son. Our dog,
unfazed, panted away blissfully.
it. My son programmmed another address that was on the other side of
Tel Aviv. I felt like banging my
forehead against the dashboard–I had lots of cooking to do and I wanted my
Friday back.
Finally, we saw Purina banners. And dogs. Lots of dogs. We knew we had finally
reached our destination.
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