It cracks me up every time I watch it.
* * *
It’s 7:20, and my day hasn’t started out terribly well. First Fred left for work, then woke me up five minutes later with a phone call.
“How rescue-y are you feeling today?” he asked.
“I don’t know, why? What happened?”
“There’s this little black dog at the corner of ThisRoad and ThatRoad (a four-way stop), and he’s been here for the past few days at least. I think he might be a dropoff.”
“You don’t think he belongs to one of the houses around there?” I suggested.
“There really aren’t any houses around there,” he said.
“There are houses on the other sides of those big fields.”
“Oh yeah. Well, he’s been right around the intersection the past few days, looking really confused.”
“Well, what the fuck would we do with him?”
“I don’t know, but he’s awfully cute. He’s little, but not a puppy.”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to the mall later. I’ll bring some dog food and water with me, and if he’s there, I’ll stop and see if I can get him.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
I hung up, knowing that if it had been a cat, I would have been out the door before he could have finished telling me about it. But damn – it’s one thing to rescue a dog that shows up on your front doorstep. It’s another thing altogether to go five miles down the road to rescue a dog. (But you know I will if he’s still there later.)
Since I was now wide awake, I got up and went around the house opening blinds. Sugarbutt and Tommy followed me around, eyes wide with anticipation, hoping I’d open the back door. I collared the two of them, plus Mister Boogers, and opened the back door, then went around the back yard, closing gates.
I did a few more small things around the house and then checked on the cats one last time before I went off to take my shower. Took my shower, blow-dried my hair, took my vitamins, and then pulled the dirty sheets off my bed. I went into the laundry room to put the sheets in the washer, glanced out the back door, and could only see Sugarbutt and Tommy.
I left the sheets on top of the washer, and stepped out back, calling for Mister Boogers.
No Mister Boogers.
I slid my feet into my garden clogs (still wearing my nightgown) and went outside, calling again for Mister Boogers.
No Mister Boogers.
I let myself out of the back yard (still wearing the nightgown and garden clogs, for I am a fashion icon) and walked over toward the house next door. In the past, when Mister Boogers has jumped the fence, that’s the direction he tends to go. I called and called and called in my special high-pitched Mister Boogers voice.
No Mister Boogers.
I considered going inside and getting dressed before continuing the search, said “Oh, fuck it. No one cares.” and walked around the front of the house.
No Mister Boogers.
I checked the garden, the wood shed, the ditch bordering our property and the church’s property, the front of the house, the side of the house, under the cars.
No Mister Boogers.
I came inside, got dressed, and grabbed my cell phone.
“I lost Mister Boogers,” I told Fred. We talked while I walked around the house, around the house next door, around the garden again, checked in the chicken yard, checked the ditch and under the cars.
No Mister Boogers.
“Goddamn I hate his stumpy little ass,” I fumed to Fred. “I am NOT staying home and waiting for his stupid ass to show up! I have plans!”
“Okay,” he said.
“WHO READY FOR THE SNACKIN’!!!!” I bellowed, pulling out the big guns. In the back yard, Tommy ran full-speed toward me, eyes bright.
No Mister Boogers.
I walked into the back yard and Sugarbutt and Tommy ran around like their asses were on fire. Sugarbutt ran up the tree a few feet, then jumped down when I yelled at him. After some discussion, I decided to put Sugarbutt and Tommy in the house, close the back door, open a couple of gate doors, and unplug the electric fence so Mister Boogers could get in the back yard.
“What if he doesn’t come home?” I said, teary-eyed at the thought.
“If he doesn’t, he doesn’t,” Fred said. “If he wants that badly to be free, nothing we do is going to contain him.”
“Fucker,” I said.
“Maybe he’s off with Maxi and Newt.”
“Well, if he runs across Maxi and Newt, he’ll be okay. They’ll take care of him.” Maxi does love her some Booger.
“Let me know if he shows up,” Fred said.
I hung up the phone, took one look in the back yard, and then sat down at my desk. I paid some bills, did a little surfing, downloaded some
KATG. About ten minutes after I’d sat down, I heard a banging noise at the back door.
The sound of a cat trying to come through a cat door and being denied, is what that sound was.
I ran to the back door, opened it, and Mister Boogers came casually strolling through the cat door.
“You,” I informed him. “Are a fuckhead.”
Sugarbutt is desperate to get back outside, but that’s not happening again anytime soon. I think we’re going to let them outside tomorrow morning and set up the camcorder to see just exactly how Mister Boogers is getting over the fence. Once we know how he’s doing it, we can figure out how to stop him from doing so.
I called Fred to let him know that That Boogery Bastard was home safe, then went into my bedroom to make the bed.
I got the clean sheets out of the closet and started to put the fitted sheet on the bed.
And there, in the middle of the sheet, was a great big birdshit. How I missed it when I was folding the sheets, I do not know.
I have a feeling the universe is trying to send me a message, but I’m not exactly sure what it is. No doubt I’ll go to see if that dog is still at the corner of ThisRoad and ThatRoad, and I’ll either run it over, it’ll be dead in the road, or I’ll somehow manage to chase it out into traffic and get it killed.
* * *
The bastard sleeps the sleep of the bastardly.
* * *
(9:46 am) Edited to add: I drove to the intersection where Fred saw the dog, and saw no dogs anywhere. I went up the road a little, turned around, and still no dog. I went through the intersection several times and didn’t see the dog. There’s a construction crew nearby, so either the dog got scared and ran off, or ran home (I hope) or maybe they’re feeding and watering him. I’m going to the mall in a bit and will go through that intersection both ways, so I’ll keep my eyes peeled for him.
Previously
2006: No entry.
2005: Oh, the hilarity that ensues when your car and foster kitten have the same name! I could almost hear the laugh track in the background.
2004: PMS, anyone?
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001:No entry.
2000: Charmed life, have I mentioned?]]>