Otis is our lone dog since the passing of his brother in December. He is growing into his role as alpha, a position held by his brother for thirteen years. He loves going out into our yard and exploring. He happily trots along, stopping to check out new scents, as he follows his familiar path around the yard.

This is Otis on a leash in our backyard. Why is he on a leash? You might be wondering, especially since I just told you how much he loves freely exploring the backyard. Otis has lost the privilege of roaming freely. Let me tell you why…

Yesterday, as I scrambled to prepare dinner before having to drop my oldest daughter, Wren, off at dance, I asked my youngest daughter to take Otis out back. One of us usually stands on the porch and watches Otis. Sometimes, his wandering gets the best of him and he finds the open space where our fence meets our neighbors, just wide enough for him to slip out and further explore the neighborhood.

Sometime in between chopping an onion and mixing up a sauce for the lettuce wraps I was preparing, Rose came back inside. I assumed Otis had followed. I went on prepping dinner until that chore was interrupted by the doorbell. “Check which door that was,” I instructed the girls as I peered out the front window. No UPS or FedEx trucks. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I handed the wooden spoon to Wren, “keep stirring,” I said as I moved towards the front door.

“It’s someone with sunglasses,” Rose exclaimed as I pulled the door open to see a stranger on the stoop.

“Do you have a small brown dog?”she asked just as my eye caught a glimpse of Otis, doing his happy trot on the island that runs down the full length of our half-mile street. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she went on as I began moving towards Otis.

“I’m so glad you did!” I exclaimed as I told her that I had left my five-year-old in charge of watching him in the yard and how he sometimes escapes.

I walked towards Otis casually, not wanting to get him even more excited. I tapped my leg and called his name. No response. We aren’t sure how well he sees or hears at this point.

As I neared Otis, he caught sight of me and happily trotted to his next pee-post, a tree. Whoever had designed our road created a dog paradise, trees and telephone poles lining a perfect patch of grass. Otis finished his business just as I approached. I thought I had him, but he saw me and this time picked his trot up to more of a jog. At this point, the wind outside picked up and I felt like I was pushing against a wall as I moved further and further down the street. “Get me the leash!” I called back to my house, hoping someone would hear me.

As Otis approached his next stopping place, I decided to try and get ahead of him and catch him when he stopped. I picked up my fast walk to a jog. I was going to get him. I met him at the pole and bent down to grab him, only to feel his fur and my fingertips scrape against his collar. He looked up at me with glee as he sprinted down the road.

I watched him cross a four-way intersection just as Adi caught up to me with the leash. I looked back towards the house to see my other two daughters running in our direction. I took off again, wondering what would happen if I couldn’t catch him. Should I just let him go? Would I be chasing him all night? My mind went back to the dinner cooking on the stove, and I said a silent prayer that Wren had thought to turn off the burners.

I somehow got ahead of Otis and cornered him by a thick tree trunk. I once again bent down to grab him, only to have him escape. He was having the time of his life. Luckily, he changed direction and began running back home…right towards the stranger who had rung our doorbell. She had continued her walk and was now catching up to us. She knelt down and offered her mittened hands out for Otis to sniff. He ran right to her and sniffed long enough for me to snap his leash onto his collar.

By that time, all three girls had caught up to me. Rose was in tears about Otis escaping on her watch. Adi was smiling a big smile, always amused by others who break the rules. “Did you turn off the stove?” I asked Wren, still catching my breath.

“No. You didn’t tell me to,” she replied.

We all picked up our pace, making the trek back home.

So, that is the story about how Otis lost the privilege of free roaming in the backyard. He may never earn it back.