About once a week, I used to go into Toowoomba for the usual searching and retrieving of groceries and the
like. Gretal used to accompany me on many of these outings if weather permitted. Sometimes, I would visit a friend for breakfast and a shower because of the lack of running water at home. Gretal would either wait in the truck for me or have to be locked in my friend’s backyard on these visits. My friend was not all that dog friendly. Today I would say, love me, love my dog, but in those days, I was so happy to be able to have a nice, relaxing shower that I bit my tongue and kept Gretal at bay.
On one of these trips, it was a little too warm to leave Gretal in the truck whilst I whizzed into the bank, and I had been visiting another friend that worked on his own for Council out of an office in the town centr. He suggested that I leave Gretal with him. She would be okay. He would tie her to the leg of his drafting table, close the door, and anyway, he would be there working to keep her company. This didn’t seem to be such a bad idea to me. I was only going to be a couple of minutes anyway. But, of course, Gretal had never been tied up. How undignified. Gretal had other ideas.
As I descended from the office building, down the stairs, and into the street, I could hear Gretal yodelling away – well, more like screaming her lungs out. I thought she’d get over it in a few minutes, and by that time I will be back.
Off into the bank I went, and within a couple of minutes — to my utter surprise — there was Gretal at my side. Shocked and stunned, and slightly panicked, the picture of her crossing the main streets of Toowoomba flew through my head. She had been tied up and with my friend behind a closed door. She still had part of her lead attached and trailing, part of the drafting table dragging behind her.
I disentangled her from the pieces of table, tucked them under my arm, as if this was an everyday occurrence, and with funny looks from the other bank customers, I finished my business as though nothing unusual had happened. I hurried back through two sets of traffic lights to my friends office, Gretal heeling quietly beside me. A very happy Gretal! And what a smart Gretal for finding me in the Bank!
My friend and I encountered each other across the street, him looking slightly frazzled, staring up and down the street. He was quite shocked to see me suddenly appear with Gretal in tow, parts of his drafting table under my arm.
Apparently, as soon as I had closed the door to his office, Gretal had started chewing at her lead. Within seconds, she’d freed herself, barrelled the door with her head until it gave in, then hurtled down the stairs and out onto the street, my friend in hot pursuit. But he had lost sight of her in the lunchtime crowds crossing at the lights of Ruthven and Margaret Street. He was flabbergasted and extremely anxious and embarrassed at this point, knowing how much Gretal meant to me. He had been responsible for her welfare and failed.
Well, Gretal had a way of inadvertently making you feel guilty for all sorts of things. She just had a knack for following her own agenda. Whether it meant using brute force or a soft and sloppy look, Gretal usually got her way, eventually. Suffice to say, it was not all that easy to get “Gretal sitters” due to the fact that most people were terrified of her outlandish and unpredictable behaviour — and of my overprotective attitude and blissful denial. Or was it ignorance of what she put other people through? Bless her. She had given me a reason to live and to experience love from a very special being, a distinguished and extraordinary Weimaraner called Gretal.
Tags: dog story, Gretal, pet dog, story, Weimaraner
