I was recovering from my horrifying ordeal of being trapped in a broken dark elevator [See Feb 1-7 Edition], and I was finally ready to conquer my fear of elevator travel.
Besides which, I was getting tired walking up all those stairs. I was even tired walking down. Never live on the twenty-fifth floor!
Ok, maybe it was only six floors, but it could have been twenty-five. It sure felt like it.
I set off for the elevator with a spring in my step when I noticed my neighbour’s door was open and their dog standing there. Was it a pitbull? I’m sure we’ve all heard stories about pit bulls and how it’s not the dog but the owner. I wondered what type of owners my neighbors are.
I timidly walked over to the elevator and pushed the button, keeping the neighbor’s dog in view while telling him in English what a good little doggie he was. I even used that cute baby voice we all seem to adopt when appropriate. I hoped Mr. Mexican Dog was bilingual; the neighbors seemed to be.
The elevator arrived, and without delay, I entered, pushed the first-floor button, fumbled for the close door button and as the door slowly closed, looked down and the dog was beside me. Not looking that much like a friendly pit bull. At least the lights were on, and I could keep an eye (actually, both eyes) on my new opportunity for friendship.
We landed on the first floor without incident, but before I could answer any of my internal questions; Can I keep the door from opening? Where is the sixth-floor button? Is the dog friendly? Do his owners miss him? The door opened, and the dog ran out! Am I responsible for him? Is he friendlier than he looks? Does he understand English? Does he like men? Me, in particular? How could I safely (for me) capture the beast?
I accepted responsibility!
Putting my bag down, I tried to herd him into the elevator, but he headed to the parking lot, doubled back and came towards me. I suppose I could have grabbed him, and dragged him to the elevator but I didn’t want to hurt the little feller.
And besides, the elevator was gone. Never an elevator around when you need one. The elevator opened and one of the owners came out, very apologetic, and reassuring that the dog is friendly.
Having survived yet another terrifying elevator ordeal, I grabbed my bag and headed on my journey to secure provisions before the day’s adventures.
Reflecting on my life-altering experience of being trapped with an unknown, possible pit bull, I realized how little I knew, let alone understood about the breed.
Is there more than one type, like a chocolate lab, golden lab?
Do they bite? Hard?
Now, I’m not normally a superstitious person, but “they” say things happen in threes. I’ve had two elevator incidents recently and while they may seem trivial to you;
Does anyone want to go in an elevator with me?
Bruce is a retired Canadian, who along with his wife Velma, took a “mulligan” on life and escaped the cold of Canada and settled in the Vallarta area. Fulfilling a retirement dream of not driving anymore, Bruce will use public transportation to tour the bay and tell his tales here. Tips and itineraries welcome. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org