It’s late. The fire is roaring (as much as a gas insert can roar but it sounded good). And the house is quiet minus the snorts or farts from our Lab. But I’ll take it. It’s quiet to me.
I’d be reading right now except that the pain in my ankle got the best of me and I popped two Vicodin. Vicodin doesn’t play nice with small printed words on a page and it alters my comprehension level. Plus, I’m trying to get back on a blog schedule. Life has been straight jacket insane.
In addition to all of the sports and extracurricular activities we have the kids enrolled in because society tells us that we suck if we don’t, we lost our 6yr old Lab for a few days. She was engaging in her favorite activity….trolling the ‘hood for garbage can delicacy (that could later be expelled on the single swatch of carpet in my home) when she went missing.
When her hungry stomach didn’t bring her home in the usual 10 minutes, we formed a search party. We scoured the neighborhood for days. All of the neighbors are well acquainted with our beast and assured us they hadn’t seen her (although I kept a suspicious eye on the free range chicken owner).
Unknown to us, she was taken to the Police station when an over zealous officer on neighborhood patrol picked her up. She was placed in a caged jail until an employee took her to his home in order to save her a trip to the pound (where pretty girls like her are sure to get raped).
Tres was beside himself. He bawled and snotted everywhere for days. The unknown and visuals of her in a road kill state wrecked havoc on his little mind. I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe how much cleaner my house felt. NO HAIR! Do you know how much Labs shed?!? NO VOMIT! Do you know how sensitive Labs stomaches are and how much they enjoy gorging themselves?!? NO STINK! Do you realize the amount of canine odor Labs produce?!? I was borderline giddy! But then I’d look into the sad, swollen eyes of my baby boy and almost feel bad. It wasn’t until he prayed for the Lord God, creator of Labs, to bring her home safely that my heart melted.
I never thought to call the Police. Something didn’t seem right about calling them to report a missing dog. Murder, sure. Rape, hello 911. Robbery, uh-huh. Kidnapping, of course. Bomb, yep. Missing dog, w e a k!
I sheepishly dialed the Police station and in apologizing tones stated that I,
“Umm, would like to report a missing dog.”
I held my breath and literally paused waiting for the laughter. But instead the female officer asked me for a description! Wow, really? As I began to rattle off (in too much detail I’m sure) a description down to the very fur count, the officer grew quiet. Quiet (in my world) means I have to talk more. Unless I’m really comfortable with you, quiet is kinda awkward for me and I usually fill it with useless ramblings. When I rambled about her collar color, including a description of the pattern and texture she finally blurted out,
“I know where she is!”
This verbal expulsion shut me up for a few minutes. What? Did she just say she knew where our missing dog was? The Police who deal with murder, rape, robbery, bomb threats and kidnapping, those Police…they actually know where our stinky dog is?
She texted me a picture and asked me to confirm her identity. As I was waiting for the photo to ding on my phone, I thought about leaving her with the nice guy who took her home. He’d give her a good life right? He obviously liked her already. In fact, I bet they were seriously bonding. I just knew it would be too traumatic to yank her away from him. After spending every day of her life for the past 6 years with us she wouldn’t even miss us after a few more days….right?….
Ding. The picture came.
And I heard someone who sounded a lot like me saying, “Awww, that’s her. She’s ours.” And I found myself loading up excited Tres and driving to the Police Station to claim our loot. And I may have heard myself asking the Police woman if the kind man who took her home just didn’t want to keep her considering the amount of time he had invested in her well being. And I may have just given Police woman my number for him to call me if he was interested. And I may have just called the next day and left the good Samaritan a voice mail to inquire if he was interested in a certain 6yr old English Lab with a fondness for garbage.
pay back for my thoughts of and actions toward premeditated abandonment a thank-you she body slammed us a little more aggressively right before she emptied her bladder all over the Police Station floor. Vomiting is her preferred body fluid deposit of choice but I guess they didn’t provide her with the necessary access to garbage.
Now that she has an arrest record, I have big plans for her involving an underground fence, electricity and a collar.
The expensive yard containing set-up should provide hours of amusement especially when she spots the free range chickens just out of her reach. I wonder if I can convince the kids to forego the family vacation (I’m trying to pay off the thing people) and stay home to play “lets count how many times the dog gets shocked!”
In the meantime, I have to vacuum.
Straight jacket insane.