Queeni trees a cat

HRH walks off leash most of the time. It is something that we tried at our old flat because her palatial grounds there was a rectangle of grass bordered by footpaths and it was easy to train her not to stray beyond those boundaries.

When we moved to this flat -- chosen mostly because of the expanse of greenery that it looked down to -- the palatial grounds somewhat increased and didn't have easily demarcated borders.

That was when she started testing her off-leash limits. She knew the off-leash route but the stubborn Schnauzer would every now and then try to go off course, playing one sucker parent against the other, depending on who was walking her. "Daddy lets me go there," I could see her thought bubble when she cocked her head at me as I called her back.

Then, last year, when we were in the fright of the mast cell tumour episode, all rules were lifted. We didn't know at first what she would lose with the tumour removal -- a toe, a paw or even a whole leg. She may never run again, so what the hell, we let her run where she pleased.

And when all that was over, and she was finally able to set the bum paw minus one toe on ground and run again, she continued to be given free rein. Because well, she could run.

By now, L never takes her leash along when he walks her. On the other hand, I'm the worrier. I leash her when I go downstairs with her and I unleash her only when I see that there are no children around and when the snappy Japanese Spitz that also walks off leash isn't out at the same time as we are.

All that is a long way to get to the title of this post. The other night, we took the dogs out for their final pee pretty late, at about 1am. Queeni was unleashed and had gone ahead down the stairs -- she never waits for L as he locks the door. And I'm the rear of the entourage with the beta terrier on leash.

By the time we got to the field, we were just in time to see Queeni streak after a cat. The only thing that stopped her was that the cat fled up a tree, with a yowl and a screech. Smart cat. Because if it didn't do that, it would have gone on running to god knows where, with Queeni hot on her heels. That was one close lost-dog call.

Which is yet another long way to say that it's back to the leash for HRH. Or at least until her entourage and security detail ensure that there are no interlopers lurking around the palatial grounds. Then, she gets to go off leash. Sucker Daddy says so. And Worrier Mummy was right.

(Of course I have the last word. This is my blog.)