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A WHITE BALL OF FUR - Page 2

© Mary M. Alward

Snowball’s color, though beautiful, was a worry to me. If he ever escaped the confines of the yard and ran onto the road, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Drivers wouldn’t be able to see him on a snowy winter’s day.

One blustery day, the inevitable happened. I looked into the yard and Snowball was gone. I alerted my husband. Frantically, we slipped on coats and boots and ran into the street calling Snowball’s name and whistling – no response. Then we heard it! The rumble of a snowplow on the next street. We raced down the block and rounded the corner. Panic seized me. Half a block away, the snowplow was backing down the street. Snowball was chasing after the blade, dancing on his hind legs, barking ferociously.

My husband continued to run. I was frozen in place. Luckily, the snowplow driver saw my husband and stopped. He was quite amused that such a little bundle of fur would take on his monster snowplow.

As my husband handed Snowball to me, my heart thumped erratically in my chest. Breathless from the chase, I held my beloved puppy close and chided him for being such a “bad dog.” His ears laid down flat; his curly, white tail went down. He knew he had done wrong.

I would like to say that after his experience with the snowplow, Snowball settled down and learned to stay home. This was not the case. A repeat escape took place within a month, though this time Snowball did not tangle with a snowplow.

I had let Snowball into the dog run for some exercise. About twenty minutes later I looked out into the snowy yard. My eyes could not catch a glimpse of any movement. Where was he?

I grabbed my coat off the hook near the back door and ran into the street, my husband following close behind. A block away was a very busy intersection. Horns were blaring loudly. We raced down the hill and through the park. Snowball was in the middle of that intersection running in circles. Traffic was stopped all four ways.

I chuckle now at the spectacle we must have made. A small bundle of white fur running in circles and us chasing him. Finally, with the help of some nice people, I was able to scoop him into my arms. As we trudged through the park and up the hill, I scolded him. He lay very still, probably wondering if his days were numbered.

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