As I go to the homes of about half of my students, sometimes I encounter strange situations outside of my control. One family in particular has a big dog we'll call Bowser to protect the innocent. Bowser is a nice dog, but he jumps. I do not like being jumped on. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy animals on occasion. Actually, I like my own pets, but I don't really care for other people's. The first few lessons, the family left Bowser in his crate so that he wouldn't bother our lesson. However, Bowser's crate is parked right next to the piano, so Bowser made his presence known throughout the lesson.
After the first few when Bowser was "used to me," I was left to my own devices. They hold Bowser back long enough for me to walk in the door and close it behind me, and then they let him loose. And he jumps and wags and noses around and jumps some more. Meanwhile, I'm trying to take off my coat, and my scarf, and my hatt, and my gloves, and my BOOTS. Taking off boots means bending over, and then Bowser is right in my face. I put my purse on the floor, and Bowser is in my purse.
Bowser bounds down the stairs after me and proceeds to jump on my back as I sit down at the piano. If I stand beside the bench while the children sit at the piano, Bowser jumps onto the bench. Needless to say, it makes for an interesting lesson.
A few weeks ago, after packing up for the day, I said goodbye as I let myself out. At the exact moment that I opened the door, a neighbor was walking by with 2 or 3 unleashed little dogs trotting along behind. Bowser got a glimpse and tore out the door. Oh crap, I thought.
I ran outside to try to grab Bowser, but Bowser had no collar on and I was mentally deciding whether or not I should lunge for him. The owner of the other dogs was a distressed-calm in her fur coat as she panted how sorry she was for not having her dogs on a leash. Finally I got Bowser to go back in the direction of the open door, but before I could stop it, one of the little dogs ran into the house after Bowser. The the fur coat cried, "Oh no! My boots are snowy, I don't want to go into your house!" To which I grumbled, "it's not my house," and plunged back in, snowy boots and all. The dogs were chasing each other around the kitchen, the boys were screaming, and I was yelling to the foreign babysitter to capture the little dog. He didn't understand me.
I caught the dog, handed him over to the fur coat, closed the door, and RAN to the bus stop.
All in a day's work.
