The Dogs' View: The Wagon

Artie: I heard Mom in the kitchen, fussing about and clicking something.  Not the Clicker Something but her belt thing (Spibelt) that she wears a lot. This means she's probably going somewhere. I heard her reach for something by the door to Our Place.  Oh, oh, oh, I think she's going for a harness.....wait for it.....

Elke: OHMYGOD, HARNESS, HARNESS!  LEASH! LEASH!!!  MOAN-GROAN-GRUNT-SQUEeeeeAL!  I CAN'T STAND IT!!!!!!!

Artie: God, Elke, really?  How old are you again?

Elke: OHMYGOD, SHE HAS MYYYYY HARNESS! OMG, OMG, OMG!  I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!

Artie: Oh, oh, she has MY harness too!!!!!!  Yippeee!

Elke: OHMYGOD, GATE, GATE, GATE, MUST GO OUT GATE!!!!  I'M SOOOOOOOOOOO EXCITED!  GATE!  OUT!
What?  I have to get BACK???  Mom has to go first?  Oh, god, I can't stand it!
Moooooaannnnn-grunt-grunt-moan!

Artie: Hey Princess Superior,  check it out. Mom is holding YOUR leash!   She doesn't have to hold MINE.  I stay with her!
Oh, nothing from the peanut gallery???
Yeah, go ahead, give me the stink eye.
So....anyway.....She attached the other end of our leash to my harness front so we are on the same leash.  Mom says it's easier than do all it that way than the leashes-tangled-up-two-dogs thing.
We wear a special harness called a Freedom Harness.

Elke in her Freedom Harness last year. 

Now humans name stuff the darnedest things.  "Freedom," my Aunt Fanny! Freedom means running around, jumping in the water, stuff like that.   Anyway, you can attach a leash to the top or the front or both. It's a nice harness.  Mom really likes it. I know when I see the harness something's going to happen!!!!
Elke is sniffing like crazy.  I mean like she's sniffing her brains out.  Like Evil Vacuum Cleaner.
We walked to the place with the slide-out box that gives treats to us (the bank) and then we start to walk home. We go down a street I don't think I've been to before and Mom sees a girl on a bike trying to pull her brother in a wagon.

Mom: (This does not bode well: kids, bike, wagon....This could be a lot of fun or a train wreck....it's looking like a train wreck.....Yep, it's a train wreck.....) You need a rope!

Girl: He hurt his knee and I'm trying to get him to my uncle's house. You're too heavy! (accusingly to kid in wagon)

Elke: I've calmed down now.  I've sniffed......

Artie...yeah, like the neighborhood went up your nose....

Elke: .....I've pooped.  I'm good. Hi kids!

Artie: KIDS!??  Whoa, kids!!!!

Elke: Mom looped our leash through the handle of the wagon. Then she put the leash on to the top of our harnesses. She clicked her tongue, not the Treat Sound but ck-ck-ck and made kissy noises!
     "C'mon guys, pull-pull-pull!  Ck-ck-ck!  Good dogs!  Good girl, Schmooby!  Good boy, Blooby!"  (She was using her Happy Voice.) Mom had her hand on the handle to steer it, and make sure it didn't run into our butts but oh, we were pulling the wagon.  Brat Boy was a little weirded out at first so I did most of the work......

Artie: Yeah, that thing behind me making noise was a little weird but Mom kept saying I was good!

Elke: ....Then he finally got his act together.  We pulled the wagon down the street, passed about ten houses, turned left, passed a few houses, turned right and then turned left into a driveway.  Some guy on his porch hollered, "Hey, that's the way to do, that's pretty cool, you go, dogs, great idea!" (I think he'd had a few beers.)
We finally arrived at the house and the girl was sooooooo nice and thanked us and pet us very gently.  Blooby wasn't even a brat!  Amazing.
Mom said, "See you don't need a sled dog!  These guys can do it just fine!"
The little boy never thanked us.  Brat. Mom changed our leash back to the front part of our harnesses and made us walk nicely home. No pulling!  It feels different when the leash is on TOP!
The rest of the way home Mom told us how good we were!

Us by New Car. It doesn't have a name yet. 

We came in the house and Mom took off our harnesses.  I collapsed on the floor and Brat Boy slept on the pillow!  Mom said we really earned our dinner tonight.

Artie: Don't we always?

Elke: Whatever.