HUMOR
The Dog-Saves-Dog Video and My Wife’s Extremely Low Animal Endangerment Emotional ThresholdLOS ANGELES, CA 05 December 2008 |
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Maybe you've seen this already, the now-world-famous video of a heroic dog rescue on a highway in Chile. It's been sweeping the Internet for the past 48 hours. A dog gets hit by a car on a busy highway and is left for dead. Another dog, in a stunning act of canine heroism, risks its life and ventures out into traffic to save his fallen friend, dragging him out of harm's way by the scruff of his neck.
My wife watched the video yesterday and immediately started weeping. We were both at home at the time. She was in her office; I was in mine. All of a sudden I hear sniffling.
"What's going on in there?" I said.
"Have you seen this dog video? The one on the highway?"
"I heard about it."
"Oh my god."
More sniffling.
"Are you crying?"
I get up. Go into her office.
"He saves his little buddy on the highway," she says. And explodes into tears.
I stand there watching her. Sobs. And then laughter. It goes on like this. Alternating.
"I'm completely losing it," she says. "I just can't take this stuff."
Animals do that to her. They do it to me, too---but not to that extent. A very low threshold when it comes to animal endangerment. Both of us.
And here it's worth noting that my wife is not an emotional woman. Minnesota Scandinavian. Sensitive and warmhearted but not at all prone to open displays of emotion. She can't even hug her best girlfriends goodbye. They do fist-bumps.
But show her a video of an innocent animal in peril, and she loses it completely. Happens every time.
For example:
She started sobbing once on an airplane while watching a CBS News documentary about polar bears and the melting ice caps. I was listening to my iPod at the time, reading a magazine. Had no idea she was crying until I looked over at her. Sobbing. Blowing her nose into a cocktail napkin. Her voice was catching. Fellow passengers and flight attendants were looking at her with concern.
I take a headphone out of one ear.
"What the hell is the matter with you?"
"The baby polar bear...he died..."
She points to the in-flight television monitor. I see a momma polar bear on a tiny iceberg, adrift.
More sobbing. Head down on the tray table. Embarrassed laughter. Shoulders heave.
Back to yesterday. The dog video. My wife in her office, an emotional wreck.
By now it's a half-an-hour later. She has calmed down. Gotten on with her day. Still very fragile, but essentially composed.
Meanwhile I'm racing around the apartment, throwing my clothes on, gathering my things, getting ready for work. I have to drive across town to teach. I'm running a little bit late.
I get to the door. My hands are full. Teacher bag. Keys. Bottle of water. A snack for the road.
Walter, my dog, is at my feet. My wife is there to tell me goodbye.
I open the door. Walter gets out into the hall. No big deal. We live on an upper floor.
So now all three of us are in the hall. My wife is chasing Walter. He's running down to the end of the hall. Playing. Being silly. He thinks that he's going for a walk.
I hit the button for the elevator. Wait.
"Bye," I say. "See you in a little bit."
The door opens. I get on.
"Bye," I hear my wife say.
The door starts sliding shut.
Then I hear a scream.
I look down.
Walter's head is shut in the elevator door. He's trying to follow me onto the elevator. He's wiggling, trembling, struggling to get free.
And now my wife is making a sound that I've never heard her make before. A sort of high-pitched squeal...guttural...primal...terrible....awful....
My hands are full. I drop my teacher bag. Reach over. Stick my hand in the door. It opens.
Walter is free.
"Get the dog!" I say.
I probably say it too firmly, and a little too loudly, because I'm startled. My adrenaline is pumping.
"I tried!" she says. "I tried! Oh god! Oh god!"
She's still talking as the elevator door slides shut.
Stunned, I descend.
"Jesus," I say to myself.
I'm late for work. I have to go.
Walter, though rattled, is presumably fine.
Now I'm on my way over to school. I'm in Century City. I call from the car.
"How is he?" I say.
"I panicked," she says. "I didn't react well in a time of crisis. His poor little head was stuck in the elevator door, and instead of just sticking my hand in the door, I started pulling on his legs."
"You were pulling on his legs?"
"Yes! What do you think I was doing?"
"I don't know. I couldn't see you."
"He was crushed in there, and all I could think to do was grab his hind legs and start pulling."
She starts crying again.
"Jesus," I say.
Laughter. Sobs.
"I should've just stuck my hand in the door like a normal person."
"That's what I did."
"I know that's what you did, but that's not what I did!"
"Well look," I say. "Everything happened fast. Don't worry about it. All's well that ends well. What's he doing now?"
"Sleeping. I'm just sitting here, watching him breathe. He's probably concussed."
"He's not concussed."
"He's concussed."
"He's not concussed."
"He's probably deaf. Mommy didn't save him in time. He lives in a world of silence."
"He doesn't live in a world of silence."
"Yes, he does."
We laugh.
We say: "Jesus."
For a moment there is real silence.
And then I say: "You actually just stood there and pulled on his hind legs?"
"Yes!"
I roar with laughter. I'm getting a great image of this in my mind. Just pitiful.
"Good god," I say.
"I know!"
"And right after watching that damned dog video."
"I know!"
"It's too much."
"It is too much. I can't take it. I'm exhausted. I need a cocktail."
"Take a nap."
"I can't. I'm too wound up."
"Give Walter a treat."
"I already did."
"I'm sure he's fine."
"I think he's concussed."
"He's really not concussed."
"I'm pretty sure he is."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know. I just do."
"I think you're overreacting."
"Mommy hurt his head."
"Mommy didn't hurt his head. Relax."
"Mommy pulled his hind legs outta socket."
"He probably thought it was fun."
"He was terrified. I acted poorly in a time of crisis."
"This was a trial run."
"Oh god..."
"I gotta go."
"Okay. Go."
"Don't be too hard on yourself."
"He's concussed."
"He's not concussed."
Eventually we hang up. I go teach.
I walk into my classroom and immediately tell my students the story. Much laughter. Hands over mouths.
Walter, for the record, is fine.
To the best of my knowledge, he is not concussed.
Concussed.
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I roared out loud with laughter at this one. Pulling on his little hind legs. Hiliarious.
She should have grabbed the scruff of his neck with her teeth and pulled him to safety. Walter looks like he’s got a pretty solid head.
I can’t believe you just let the elevator close after that and left your hysterical wife and the smooshed dog there to fend for themselves. I think your students would have forgiven you for being a little late.
When my cat was really young, only a month or two old, she ran under my foot while I was walking. I stepped on her so hard it squeezed a little bit of crap out her ass. I thought I had crushed her and broken several bones, but she was fine.
I probably didn’t describe my departure well enough. You gotta realize this all happened very fast. And after his head was removed, the doors just shut. And I was late. And LA traffic is highly unpredictable. It was like I was descending before I knew what the hell had happened.
Jesus, Brad. I think this is one of your funniest posts yet. And you’ve written some funny ones, my friend.
As for the whole crying over animals thing, yeah, I totally get it. As a kid, I’d cry myself to sleep every Sunday night after I’d watched Lassie. Also, about seven years ago I was spending Thanksgiving with an old girlfriend. I was in the living room with some of her nieces and nephews watching a Disney movie called Homeward Bound. It was about these animals that get lost and spend the rest of the film trying to find their way home.
I’m a total sucker for that shit. It totally harkens back to my Lassie days. All the nieces and nephews watching the film were totally non-fazed by it. As for me, I started welling-up. I actually had to go into the kitchen and do the damn Thanksgiving dishes so as to keep myself from crying big time.
Now I’m wondering whether or not I should watch your dog video or not.
Ah, what the heck. I’m at home alone. Plus, I’ve got a sink full of dishes if I need that as a fallback plan.
Careful, Rich. You might cry yourself to sleep tonight thinking about this one.
OMG - poor, poor Walter!
I, too, am hyper-irrational when it comes to dogs. I didn’t cry at that video but I did with the elevator bit. I mean seriously. Poor Walter!
But then I laughed.
And laughed and laughed and laughed.
And then I hit my head on my keyboard.
Totally concussed.
(I hope Walter gets to sleep in the bed with you tonight. Poor, poor Walter!)
Walter, for the record, is completely spoiled. He has a bed in every room of the house.
Right now he’s on the floor in my office chewing on his squeaky sugar snap pea.
That’s right: a rubber sugar snap pea.
Sorta hard to explain.
I gained a reputation as a cold, hard-hearted killer with my family when I put a rabbit down when I was fifteen years old. We lived out in the country, miles from the nearest neighbor. One night my parents went out and left us with my oldest sister in charge. Around eight o’clock, I heard hysterical screaming downstairs. I ran down to see what was wrong, and my sisters, all four of them, were standing around a baby rabbit with two bleeding stumps where its legs should have been. The cat that had dragged it in as a gift to us had dropped it and was huddling in a corner, ears flattened, terrified at the reaction his attempt to provide a contribution for our family dinner had caused.
My sisters think it was because I am a cold-blooded monster that I picked up the baby rabbit, took it outside, and smashed its head in with a rock. I just saw no other alternative. We didn’t have a car, my parents wouldn’t be home for hours, and standing screaming around a dying rabbit didn’t seem to be helping it any.
I love animals. I hate to see them suffer. I got choked up when I saw the video of the dog.
I sometimes wonder if I still have the intestinal fortitude to hit a baby rabbit on the head with a rock to stop its suffering. I hope I never have to again.
I think you probably did the right thing. Or at least you were operating from a good instinct. My neighbor’s cat used to bring us rats. But they were always dead.
I suppose your story is evidence for why we should all keep a polo mallet in the broom closet or the garage. Just in case.
It is. It’s your funniest TNB post to date. Can we make that official? Is here a banner or a gold star we can stick on this story? I love it. Loved the dogs. Loved the tears and the laughter. Love Walter. Love nervous breakdowns and panicks at the elevator… that would make a great band name.
I would be open to the posting of a gold star on the comment board.
I accept banners as well.
Oh my God.
Well, thank goodness Walter is okay. I could absolutely see myself panicking and pulling the wrong body part.
This was a great and funny and crazy piece.
And that video is incredible. The sweetness. Jesus.
I’ve spent the last two weeks agonizing over finding the right situation in which to leave my dog while I go out of town. The idea of being apart from him for a week, and leaving him with someone I don’t know very well (but comes highly recommended) has been torturous. I need to trust that he’ll be safe and happy. But I wish I could wrap him up in a Baby Bjorn and try to pass him off as my very hairy baby.
I picture the scene at the airport:
“How DARE you! Call my son a dog, will you? I demand to speak to your supervisor!”
Repeat scene with supervisor.
Cut to me, on the plane, first class cabin, with Theo sitting next to me. Mark sits in coach, happy because I’m happy.
Anyway, dogs are great.
We got Walter with the idea that we’d be able to fly with him. Now he’s 27 lbs. We could probably fit him into one of those doggie carriers, but we’d really have to stuff him in there.
The weight limit is 20 lbs.
Maybe we could starve him for two weeks before traveling.
Starving is an option. But, I know, same thing for us. Theo turned out to be 28 pounds. I love every ounce of him but times like this I wish he were a smaller version of himself so I could take him wherever I go. I’m not putting him under that plane, no sir.
Also, now that I’ve seen a picture of Walter, he absolutely looks like a Walter. I had a Golden Retriever before Theo, who I named Nashville. (When I was first looking at Goldens they looked like “country” dogs to me, hence his name.) From time to time I’d look at him and think, “He looks like a ‘Walter’.” Maybe it was his expression. But your Walter looks like a full time Walter.
Full name: Walter Matthau Sobchak Listi.
Love it. And I do remember from class the mention of the Lebowski influence. Perf. He looks like John Goodman a bit. Maybe around the eyes.
Lately my wife thinks he looks like Wilford Brimley.
She’d be right. He does. I get the feeling that Walter’s personality is much sweeter than Wilford’s.
Wilford is sort of a curmudgeon.
BRAD! How could you go to work when your Walter was in peril and your wife was hysterical? Bad, Bad Brad! I’m so glad he’s okay. Thank God your wife was there to console him. Coward.
You were just afraid to be there if you really hurt him!
Okay, I’m calming down now. You’re not a coward. I was overreacting.
I would like to see the video. Is it supposed to be in your story? Where can I go to see it? I could use a good cry.
You’re not bad. I’m sorry. I was just in the moment, you know?
Like I said, Irene: I probably didn’t do a good enough job of explaining that moment of the story. Everything happened very fast. My wife screaming. Walter’s head in the door. Her pulling on his hind quarters. Me sticking my hand in the door. And then his head was out. And then the elevator door closed and I was descending.
You also have to realize how late I was. And how bad LA traffic is. If it were an office job or something, no problem. But with teaching, I gotta be there or my students will take off. Punctuality is essential.
At least, this is how I rationalize my complete lack of chivalry.
Hey, Brad, None of your pictures nor the video showed up the first time I read this, just big blank places. It’s all there now. That is the saddest and most beautiful video!
My friend Keiko has two french bulldogs. One of them is in Barney’s Christmas Catalog.
1.) Sometimes images and videos don’t show up. This is a Word Press issue. Or sometimes a YouTube issue.
2.) I demand pictures of Keiko’s French bulldogs. We need to get Walter into show businesses. Maybe we could make some money off of his stunning good looks.
He is an extremely studly dog. since you give such p o o r instructions on posting pictures in the comment section, I will e mail the Barney’s photo to you. Walter is perfect for advertising! (Now that I see him though, I have trouble understanding how his very small area of neck got caught in the elevator door. You do agree he has a very little bit of neck are, right?)
Irene: If you open a free account at photobucket.com, you can post photos on the comment board. All you have to do is upload a photo at photobucket.com, and then copy the “tag code,” the HTML code for the photo, into your comment. Then the photo will appear.
This is definitely the funniest thing I’ve ever read on TNB. And y’all are some funny dudes and chicks. I kept laughing out loud and reading sections of the blog to my BF.
Walter. I just love to look at him. That face just oozes cuteness. And probably drool.
The video - I couldn’t watch it until the PS at the end.
I, too, am an emotional wreck when it comes to animals in peril.
I once cried through an entire dinner (with my exe’s bosses) because I saw an anhinga get hit by a car on the way there.
And I am not a girly-girl.
Maybe it’s a tough-girl thing? We need some outlet for our repressed emotions?
I don’t know, but I do know I’ve purposely avoided the polar bear documentary.
Thanks, Autumn. Glad you enjoyed.
As for Walter drooling: sometimes, but not a lot.
It’s the English bulldogs that really drool.
Keiko’s French Bulldogs don’t drool. maybe that’s why they make the big money….
Good to know.
The BF and I are locked in a passive-aggressive argument of The Pug vs. The French Bulldog.
To me, nothing can compete with those French Bulldog ears.
With as much equanimity as I can muster: The French bulldog is clearly the superior breed.
Not even close, really.
I loved your story. It was hysterical.
I cried at that video. It was so touching and sad. I know someone that speaks spanish and when it played in Chile where it actually occured they reported that the dog had died and that the emergency road crew actually left the live dog there!!! Please see if you can get follow up because I know fox news is reporting that both dogs are OK. But if you watch the video closely when that dog is being dragged by the othe rone you see a fair amount of blood/fluid. I want to know which version is actually true Thanks
EW! Brad! You promised this ended all right. I will never forgive you if that is not the case. I have told scores of people to watch your video and promised them that it ended well. Please don’t say you made me a liar.
I hope I was right. I was only reporting what I read.
Leave it to Fox News to be telling a potentially saccharine version of the story.
Okay, Brad, trying to post pictures of Keiko’s French Bulldogs, Mochi, the Star, and Dewey, the newest member of the family:
I will be very surprised if their pictures show up.
Did you use the “tag” code for blogs and websites?
Hermpf.
Here, let me try:
Voila!
I couldnt even watch that video until I read the PS.
Well, truth is I couldnt even watch it then. Me too buddy.
No shame in it.
I got knocked out once and had a fever dream that was very real of Jesus coming over the hills of glory. He held up his hands and barking began to echo from every direction - Dogs running, of all shapes and sizes to meet me.
“I saved them all,” he said. “For you.”
Then he laughed.
Did Jesus look like Barry Gibb? I mean that sincerely. I’m curious to know what such a real-seeming Jesus looked like.
A little bit Barry Gibb, but more ethnic and earthy - sort of like a sawmill worker/ guy who mows the grass at the little Methodist church / roadie for Skynyrd.
I guess like Barry Gibb and Rich Ferguson.
It was the laugh that stuck with me.
I think we’ve come to the point where we are suspicious at all laughter, but this was just pure joy overflowing.
He sure got a kick out of seeing all those dogs meet me and jump up on my legs and into my arms and finally just laying in the grass with dogs licking and barking welcome welcome.
And he was just laughing.
Barry Gibb is a very comforting sight to me though, he’d make a good Jesus.
Barry Gibb + Rich Ferguson = The Christ Child.
You heard it here first.
How funny/odd. I think Rich looks like a cross between Jesus and The Scarecrow from the WofO. (If it’s not clear — that’s a compliment.)
I have this incredible irrational empathy for animals so I was hesitant to watch the video. I did watch it after reading that both animals lived. But really, even if he didn’t survive, the loyalty, love and bravery shown by his friend are beautiful to see.
On the other hand, what a great story!! Thank you for having a funny, neurotic wife who performs cartoon antics under pressure. I laughed until I cried. (Unfortunately, I may have a slight case of cartoonitis myself.)
You should check for an anvil in the closet.
She keeps The Gimp in the closet.
(I just wanted to see if I could get a picture to show up.)
If so, behold my sweet babies.
WTF?
Oh no, I just had a weird moment of epiphany that I can totally relate to your wife psychotically pulling on Walter’s hind legs. I can so see myself doing that. Which does not bode well for anyone who knows me!
Grace under pressure personified.
That video crushed me as well, even though the video has a happy ending. The title told me that before I first saw it (”Dog Saves Another Dog”), but still, I had to get some fresh air to keep it together. Somewhere in the Daly family line, someone passed on to me the “Disproportionately Huge Empathy With Animals” gene. This gene has worked out spectacularly well for my own dogs because when I’m exposed to such emotional tribulation, my knee jerk reaction is to locate my two dogs and shower them with scratches and treats until I feel better. If they had their way, I’d watch nothing but puppy crucifixions all day long.
Thanks for making me feel better about being a mush.