The Mechanic Street Chase

No one would ever confuse me with a great outdoorsman like Paul Bunyan. For starters, I’m hardly ever outdoors, except for getting in and out of my car, and in and out of buildings. I used to get outside more back when I was coaching, but since I stopped, it has been pretty much hit-or-miss if I decide to visit god’s country. I like to chalk it up to growing up in a major city where there was really no nature to speak of, where there were many more things to do indoors, and to the fact that I grew up in a heavily sheltered household. I just didn’t spend much time outside, and I think whatever it was clouded my opinion of nature and where I fit within it.

My children don’t share my general distaste for the great outdoors. In fact, they follow after their mother, who grew up in the country and who spent a great deal of her childhood outside. She has a pretty big green thumb, and spends a lot of time working on the yard, tending her little garden, and going for invigorating walks. Now, don’t get me wrong. I tried the outdoor walking thing too, a few summers ago. I even made it a regular habit every day to walk (and later run) through the hilly neighborhood in which we live, but then tragedy struck.

Okay, I tend to get a bit dramatic, but it was a serious situation, I assure you. I was running down the block, over on Mechanic Street, when I heard this rustling coming from behind a house. I kept running, but then I began to look around me as the sound began to get louder. All of a sudden from behind one of the houses came two snarling dogs. Now, in Newport here there is a leash law, supposedly in place to keep innocent pedestrians like me safe, but these two canines had no such leashes holding them back. They began to chase me down the street, and I swear one was salivating. I hastily discarded my standard running pace and took off like a shot down Mechanic Street and onto Main Street, the dogs nipping at my heels. I honestly thought they were going to tackle me and rip me to pieces (I told you I lived a sheltered life), so I kept going, even though my lungs felt like they were going to explode at any second.

Then, a miracle happened. Once we hit Main Street they seemed to slow down, and I realized why as I looked over my shoulder. Their owner had come out of her house and was chasing them down the block, yelling at them to stop. She may have been yelling for the whole length of the block, but I hadn’t heard her in my mad dash for freedom. Eventually I guess she got through to them, because they slowed down, and I kept accelerating, not even stopping to thank their owner for her timeliness. Indeed, I wanted to put her in jail for not observing the leash law in the first place. Hmph.

But what stopped me from going running any more that summer, and indeed for the summers since, was not the fear of the dogs chasing me down the block again, but it was what I did while I was running to get away from them. I screamed like a little girl (sorry if there are any little girls who are reading this and taking offense — none was meant), from the moment I first saw those dogs to the moment I finally pulled away from them on Main Street, and there were many people out and about on that brilliantly nice day. Every single one of them heard my high-pitched screams as two little dogs followed me to the end of that street, and I just couldn’t bring myself to face them anymore. Ironically, I have no problem saying that’s the reason I’m not doing it anymore, knowing that someone from that block could even be reading this blog entry.

So, I don’t go outside that often, but I have been known to head out there more so lately having two young children who adore the outdoors. I just keep an eye out now for people and their dogs along the way.

Sam