Dear Reader,
We all know what accountability is, don’t we? It’s when the person who is responsible won’t own up, admit to or take the blame for whatever heinous deed has been perpetrated. Like when the two of you are sitting watching TV and an incredibly noxious odor totally transcends the bouquet of the buttered popcorn. You look at each other and say, “Wasn’t me!”. Then you both turn and look at the dog, fast asleep and usually, totally innocent. Here’s another example. A few years ago, Dick came home from work to find the minivan’s passenger side mirror in pieces on the garage floor. The bits of plastic that remained on the vehicle bore an ample and telltale white streak while the garage door itself sported a furrow of freshly-gouged wood just about eye level. I could have told him that as I was pulling into the garage, selected sections of South Jersey suffered a minor tremor, just a tad of tectonic shift, and, before I could react, the garage moved. But I didn’t. Instead I said, “Your mother must have done it.”

You wouldn’t know this, but that woman, bless her soul, was directly responsible for the demise of five, count em’ - five, of my major appliances over the course of twenty years. Around the time of the minivan incident, one or the other of us had happened to find her at the odd moment sitting in the van’s driver’s seat, catching a smoke. Ergo, she did it. Plausible? You bet! Creative Accountability? I’m a master.

What does this have to do with greyhounds, you ask? Nothing, really, I just wanted to share. Patience, please. Read on.

Creative Accountability 101
or
It Wasn’t My Fault!

I didn’t intend to swallow my tooth. I don’t think this is something anyone ever sets out to do. And of course, as I relayed to my husband, daughter, dentist and the lingerie lady at Penney’s, it wasn’t my fault. And I can’t really blame Dasher and Tess either, although they were the unwitting instruments of extraction and ingestion.

Dash had not joined us for our pre-breakfast amble that morning, but was ready to go when the others and I returned. Kel went to see what Dick was doing and Suzi was ready for yet another nap but Tess is always up for an outing, so off the three of us went.

There was still a good bit of morning fog obscuring the beach even as the sun tried to make itself known. It was cool, the air was still and sounds, ‘though muted somewhat, still carried clearly around the dunes. That’s probably why I was whispering. “Do your business, Dashie. Tessssss, sssssstop bouncing.” Hurry up, Dash, do your binness.”

The first indication that something was around the corner came from Tess. Her ears stood up and she stopped bouncing, landing lightly on her tippy toes and freezing in place. Dash started to do his business but stopped mid-stream as all three of us heard a muffled “WAAK... WAAK, WAAK.” Oh my. What is that? What IS that?

I could tell from Tess’s attitude and the fact that this most tractable of doggies was about pulling my arm out of my shoulder that she thought it was something to eat. Dash, not the bravest of greyhounds in even the best conditions, was nevertheless intrigued. With one ear pointing south and the other headed heavenward, his head at a rakish, Chevalier-type angle, Dash subtly but inexorably started to push me toward the “WAAK” while at the same time managing to keep me between him and the sound. I have to admit, I was curious, too, although not in terms of bringing home breakfast like Tessie or letting curiosity maim the mom, like Dashie.

Even ‘though Tess was in four-wheel drive, we advanced slowly through the sand and around the bend of the dune. “WAAKWAAKWAAKWAAK... WAAK!” To which came the response, “WEK, WEK.” Then I knew, I knew what it was the second before a drake and a female mallard ambled (I really want to write “waddled” but I won’t so as not to add to the already numerous mispronunciations of my own last name) into view, apparently determined to cross our path. Ohboyohboyohboy, Canard and Kibble!, I’m sure Tess was thinking. Dash, on the other hand, seemed to think the Apocalypse was NOW and turned, still watching the ducks over his shoulder.

Before I could calm either of them, the ducks rethought their position and took off. Right over my head. Tess leapt into the air, taking my left arm and side with her. Dash dropped to the sand and, low-crawling, took off for home. I imagine I resembled Winnie the Pooh on the windy day holding on to the yarn of Piglet’s sweater on the Tess side and a stop action photo of the first phase of a cartwheel on the Dasher side. I think the composite me had to resemble semaphore for the letter “J”.

The dogs’ actions , sudden and simultaneous, jarred me. The loose sand did nothing to help my stability. Somehow the entire incident loosened a crown covering what had once been a molar. The final stretch brought about a final clench of my jaw, the destruction of what was left of the ties that bound and... I swallowed the tooth.

No, I didn’t tell my husband or daughter or dentist and the lady at Penney’s was way too busy. I’m telling you because I’m sure you’ll agree that I am fully justified in saying, “It wasn’t my fault!!!”