In a clear case of mistaken identity…​

One of my earliest memories involved me and Mum doing the grocery shopping. I recall walking up to her in the supermarket and grabbing her around the legs for the biggest and longest cuddle ever.

As we swayed together, I got my comfort. But she didn’t really smell like Mum. And my Mum didn’t normally get about in silk Saris. I looked over to see who was laughing hysterically.

It was Mum. Laughing. Laughing and pointing. No wonder I have so many issues.

Have you ever called someone by the wrong name? I am the most useless people when it comes to remembering names. Recently, I formally met two of the evening walkers whose paths I have crossed with for years now. I am determined to remember their names. Barbara and Malcolm. It was Malcolm or was it Brian? This is going well… Barbara owns Nemisis.

(You should probably go back and read that blog post as it contains good background information for this particular tale.)

Where was I? Oh, thats right. Calling people the wrong names. I was ten when a boy first told me he loved me. We had met about an hour before this all went down. We were at the local Pony Camp. Two dozen kids playing Spotlight in a shed was the romantic location. He got me in the corner, shone that light on me and dramatically declared…

“I love you Kelly….” which was kind of a buzz kill, because my name is Kayte. Kelly was the pretty one with the well behaved pony. Clearly a case of mistaken identity.

So now, I will get to the point of todays lesson.

I was making coffee yesterday morning when the phone rang. It was Mr. Woog who had literally just left for work. He sometimes calls right after he leaves, as he has forgotten something and needed me to run it out to him. But not this time.

“I think Chelsea has gotten out. I saw her in the park. Can you go check?”

Chelsea is the dog belonging to Mrs. Winkle who lives down the road. She is an escape artist of extreme professionalism. In Chelsea’s defence, it was an absolute cracker of a morning and the park is home to a LOT of baby bunnies at the moment.

I grabbed the lead and walked across the road.

“Chelsea!” I hollered “Come here girl…”

Chelsea came bounding out of a bush and rushed up to me. I popped the lead onto her and gave her head a good smoosh. I whipped out my phone to call Mrs. Winkle to let her know I had once again saved the day, when a large man appeared from another bush, and started yelling at me. He had a large pair of hedge clippers in his hand.

I could not quite make out what he was saying as my life started flashing by me. I was going to be stabbed in the park by a VERY angry looking man. My walk turned into a trot.

And then I heard a sentence clearly.

“Where are you taking my dog?”

I looked at Chelsea. She looked a lot bigge. And she didn’t have that much black in her coat. And come to think about it, she wasn’s jumping all over me. She was a lot calmer than normal…

I grabbed her collar only to find indeed I was not saving Chelsea, but in fact, I was dog-napping Ollie. Ollie, as it turns out, belongs to the dude that is a very popular gardener in our suburb.

I almost died. I just kept mumbling about being sorry and being so embarrassed and did you know there were other border collies in the neighbourhood not that I am suggesting that they all look the same isn’t it a lovely morning for it….

I let Ollie off the lead and high tailed it home. Ollie followed me and hung out for a bit.

THE END.

Has anything similar

happened to you?