My Neighbors Have Canceled Their Netflix Accounts So They Have More Time to Watch Me Chase Our Dog
I can sense them pulling up chairs to their front windows for optimal viewing
Bad news for the streaming services and cable companies. All the residents of one small street in central Florida have unexpectedly canceled their subscriptions because they no longer need anything to watch.
TV is out. Voyeurism of an unexpected variety is in.
My family has a large, muppet-like, highly energetic puppy now and our clown show is all the entertainment anyone needs.
Hades is a Labradoodle. He was born earlier this year (Maybe 5 months ago now? In the late spring? Early summer? Who knows? What is time anyway?). He was the youngest of thirteen siblings.
Yes, thirteen.
He was born at our friend’s house around the corner. When we went over to inspect the puppy litter the day they arrived, our friend said there were twelve puppies. They were all piled up together in a playpen. Tiny nuggets of fur wearing little paper collars of different colors for identification. I performed a quick headcount of the pile and arrived at the number thirteen.
My wife counted. She also arrived at thirteen.
Our friend was perplexed.
We then found a brown little guy with no collar buried in the puppy pile. Surprise! A thirteenth had come out.
He turned out to be Hades.
The name Hades is thought to mean “the unseen one.” Very apt. Of course, as we all know now that we have perused Wikipedia for 90 seconds, Hades the god was actually the oldest sibling in his highly dysfunctional family (and I do mean highly dysfunctional… you wouldn’t believe all the stuff those guys got up to). Hades was the firstborn but the last to be regurgitated by his dad Cronus after the whole eating the kids thing and the Zeus leading the overthrow of their parents thing. So, the name is a fit on multiple levels if you let the light hit it from the right angle.
Unfortunately, our Hades is no longer the unseen one.
He’s very seen. By everyone on our street. They see him racing around our front yard. Racing around our neighbor’s yard. Racing around our neighbor’s neighbor’s yard.
The showtimes are highly unpredictable but they are certainly worth the wait.
It’s much like whale watching or scoping out a meteor shower. You have to do your research in advance. You have to be in the right place at the right time. And you have to be patient.
Neighbors typically pull their chairs up to their front windows around 2:45 p.m. every weekday except Wednesday when primetime kicks off an hour earlier due to early dismissal day at the elementary school.
When I’m home by myself, viewing options are limited. I don’t leave the house much, and when I do, I’m usually pretty good at closing doors.
On the other hand, when the children are home, they tend to leave the house a lot, and they and their neighborhood friends are completely useless at closing doors. Particularly the friends.
One day this week, there were four or five extra kids in and around the house and let me tell you, the subscription numbers for the Guy Chasing Dog™ streaming app went through the roof.
While I was playing football, basketball, and baseball with the kids in our driveway, Hades slipped out the front door on at least 17 occasions.
No doubt, the neighbors were high-fiving each other, rejoicing while resting comfortably on their cozy chaise lounges strategically placed behind the curtains. I was not rejoicing or resting.
I was running. Around and around in circles. Diving. Pirouetting. Futilely grasping at the air where a muppet dog had so recently been.
There’s a large oak tree in our neighbor’s front yard that is ringed with a leafy ground cover. This is Hades’ first stop every time he escapes. Well, not a stop, exactly. More like a circular sprint. He makes like a NASCAR driver, hurtling himself around the tree again and again. You would think this predictability would make capture easy. It does not.
“Hey, Leann!” I presume one of the neighbors calls out, putting his Bait and Tackle magazine face down on the ottoman and leaning forward to get a better view through the window. “Get in here! You don’t want to miss this. The guy is about to do the tree part!”
I position myself with one foot up against the small bushes at the base of the tree trunk while the kids take up a rear-flanking position to ensure Hades can’t reverse course. The dog bounds toward me. With his mouth open and tongue lolling, it looks like he’s smiling. I’m sure he is. He’s having the absolute time of his young life, and just as I reach to snare him with my arms, he veers away, racing off toward the next yard over. Sometimes I lose my balance and end up on my knees. That’s a real crowd-pleaser.
At this point, one of the kids usually suggests we play it cool and not chase the dog so he doesn’t think we’re playing a game. (I don’t know which kid says this. They kind of all blend together much like the days or weeks or months I’ve spent chasing this dog.)
No matter who says it, I can admit that it seems to be very reasonable advice. I diligently ignore it. I will not be bested by a dog.
Instead of playing it cool, I dial things up to level one hundred. I sprint after Hades like I’m a defensive back trying to chase down the ball carrier. I vary my speed, slowing down before suddenly speeding up again, hoping to lull him into a false sense of complacency. It never works.
A couple of weeks ago I started going to the gym for the first time in years. All the people who spend time thinking about my inner motivations for exercise probably assumed I was hoping to get a little fitter, maybe gain some muscle mass, delay the inevitable decay of my physical body into a state of decrepitude.
Wrong. I wanted to conquer the dog.
I get a few weird looks at the gym when I slam one of those bouncy rubber balls against the wall so I can chase it down while it pinballs around the room, but it’s worth it. It’s the only way to develop the agility I need.
I’ve started integrating protein shakes into my meal planning. I try to get extra sleep when I can. You have to live like a dog to defeat a dog. That’s my mantra. I don’t know if dogs drink protein shakes but they definitely sleep a lot so don’t even think about disturbing my daily nap time from 1 to 2 p.m. Obviously, Hades disturbs me by curling up on my face and attempting to feast on my ear, but I think that’s a strategic play because he knows naptime is when I rest, recharge, and dream about not humiliating myself in front of the entire street.
That day of non-humiliation hasn’t arrived yet but I think it will. All my training and preparation will pay off eventually. We’re getting better and better at corralling Hades against the hedge at the second house over so one of us can jump on him (there is always a muffled smattering of applause from inside the houses when this happens). And worst case scenario, Hades has to get old at some point, right?
But until then, he gets to have so much fun. Multiple times per day. And most importantly, so do the neighbors.
If current trends continue, Netflix is going to have to revamp its business model.
Don’t forget to check out my Yahoo page for more dumb stories and/or my books for even dumber ones.
Love’s a Disaster - contemporary fiction about a marriage proposal gone wrong, complicated families, second-chance love, Florida, sword fighting, and punk rock music.
Fatherhood: Dispatches From the Early Years - essays and humor about the very early years of my parenting journey
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Your story is up on my podcast this week, https://youtu.be/MhOrwrIyfds
this so hits home. In the best way. :-)