I don’t like amusement park rides.
I somehow missed getting the “thrill seeking, roller coaster, zip-line riding” gene. When our family went to Disney World, my husband would take my boys on rides named “Splash Mountain!” or “Space Mountain!” Nope, those were NOT for me.
They did, however, convince me to go on “Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.” “ Look mom,” they said, “the ride description says that a ride on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad provides mild but wild thrills to those aboard—from big kids and teens to adults not up for the really big thrills found on the other two Magic Kingdom “mountain” attractions: Space Mountain and Splash Mountain.” Feeling guilty that I was the family vacation party-pooper-spoiler, I agreed to go on it.
I emerged from the ride, hair disheveled, nauseated, with stiff hands from gripping the ride handles tightly in a white-knuckled grip of sheer terror.
Now, I want to reassure you that NO DOGS WERE INJURED IN WRITING THIS POST, but Buddy has had a similar experience recently; the DOGGY TOWER OF TERROR.
We moved recently to a 20th floor downtown Chicago apartment, which is reached by elevator. Well, I suppose one could climb up and down the twenty floors of stairs, but in my mind, that is clearly not an option. So, in order to walk the dog, we have to take the elevator. Going up the first time for Buddy was apparently not a problem for him, but going DOWN was a different story
When I asked him what sounded to him like,
He responded with his usual enthusiasm because it meant SOMETHING good was going to happen, and we headed off down the hall to the elevator.
We got in on the twentieth floor and I pushed ONE. When the elevator started its descent, Buddy threw himself flat down on the floor, pancake style, feet splayed out in every direction with a look on his face that could only be read as, “I am somehow on the DOGGY TOWER OF TERROR! Hang on, hang on, we are all going to probably die!”
When we returned from our walk, as we approached the elevator he leaned back, dug in his heels and refused to get back on. Now I understand this from my own experience not wanting to go on any sort of amusement park rides. So I carried him in my arms up and down the elevator for several days, and I am happy to report now he views the elevator as that little place where he meets people who say, “Awwww, he is soooooo cute, can I pet him?” A sort of doggy petting pre-walk holding area. So apparently he has recovered from his fear of amusement park rides.
Me? Not so much.
“Who me? Want to go to Navy Pier and ride the Roller Coaster?”
“Ummmm, no thanks.”