This is Part 1 of 2. Come back tomorrow for Part 2!
About a month ago, we manned a booth at The Grassfed Exchange. Sadly, Pippin and Strider could not come in the building, and had to stay outside in the car. It was tedious for the two of them, and we felt really bad about making them sit out there. But, it wasn’t too hot, and we took them out to stretch their legs and do their business frequently. The good news, is that there was an empty field right by the parking lot, and Strider got to run run run! Pippin, on the other hand, being- well, you know, Pippin, didn’t get to run off leash for a long time. I was afraid he’d just trot off, not come back quick enough and get hurt, or something. His recall is not perfect, though it is fairly dependable. Not through any fault of mine (I don’t think… :s), he’s just… A very naughty IG. 
Anyway, I finally decided that I would try to let Pippin off his leash. There were no moving cars anywhere near, and plenty of space to run around for a little while. So, I unclipped his leash from his collar and watched him like a hawk. To our left, was the faculty where the Exchange was. It is a large, indoor arena, and there were pens with cattle on display in the center of the arena. The booths were lined up around the edges of the arena. A car was parked outside in the field, by the building. In the car was a female dog who was yip-yip-yipping very loudly. Strider, in direct disobedience to my command of “stay here”, dashed over to the car and began to hop around excitedly, trying to get a better look at the other dog. It was this distraction that gave Pippin his opportunity. “No Strider, come back here,” I told Strider. Then Pippin’s little bulls-eye bottom, trotting away towards the building, caught my eye. My heart lept into my throat.
“Pippin! Pippin, no! No Pippin! Come here! Pippin, come!” He ignored me entirely. I took off at full speed, passing Strider who had come running at my suddenly harsh tones. He thought I was talking to him, and fell at my feet as I passed. I’m sure the look on his face was one of surprise when I said to him, “Good boy!” He jumped up and followed me gladly, ready to join in any adventures I was planning on having. He hadn’t noticed Pippin. Pippin, meanwhile, had rounded the large green trash bin sitting outside and was out of view. With a burst of speed I caught up to the spot where he had disappeared mere seconds after the fact. He was nowhere in sight. With great trepidation I peered into the large, open door of the arena. Through the legs of the people standing around, I saw a skinny little dog trotting deeper into the building, head carried level with his shoulders in that manner that he does when nothing and no-one can stop him. “Oh no…” I groaned aloud. My mind raced with vivid images of the angry complaints aroused by the naughty dog, the frighted cattle that bellowed and thrashed about (Pippin likes cows), the strained relations between the Exchange and the owners of the building!! And behind me came Strider, looking around inquisitively, wondering what on earth I was searching for. If he saw Pippin and figured out that Pippin was not supposed to be there…
Strider is our police. He herds Pippin away from the trashcan, alerts us to his shenanigans and lets him know who is boss. All of these tasks are carried out in the noisiest way possible, with trumpeting barks and sometimes, if Pippin is especially obstinate, soft growls of warning. Pippin also accompanies these tasks with loud complaints, shrill barks and shrieks of rage. The thought of that scene being enacted amongst all those people- ! I fairly shuddered as my Panic Meter rose a few notches.
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