So, I have today off of work. I finished up my Christmas shopping, baked some cookies for a party tonight, hung out with the kid. Stuff like that. So I let the dogs out at some point this afternoon, and proceeded to continue playing with Jane on the floor and half-watching a documentary about women and HIV. Good times. So I realize, after some time, that the dogs haven't burst in with their usual "HEY! It's Tuesday afternoon everybody!!" excitement. So I look out the front door. No dogs. I call for them. No dogs. I look out the back window. No dogs. I walk around the house (in the snow, in my pj pants and t-shirt). No dogs.
I (pardon my French) fucking flip out. MY DOGS HAVE LEFT THE COMPOUND.
I realized they had been outside for probably a good half hour. This is not abnormal on a nice day, but who knows at what point they decided to break free from the binds of the invisible fence? Was in a half hour ago? They could be in West Hartford by now!
I call Greg. I am freaking out, screaming for the dogs, putting Jane in her crib, and getting my keys. He tells me to drive around. He's an hour away so I'm on my own. I'm driving around the neighborhood like a lunatic, screaming "JIMMY!!!" and "JUNIOR!!!" and shaking a box of bones outside the window. I am praying that I don't see one of them in the road, hit by a car. I go around the block a few times.
No dogs.
I call Greg back. He tells me to keep looking. I'm telling him I'm sure the dogs are gone, and I'm never going to find them, and.....wait a minute....there the dumbasses are, frolicking in one of our neighbors' front yards. Thankfully, it's hard for Junior to go incognito when he's on the loose.
You have to understand - my neighbors do NOT love my dogs. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that about 90% of them hate my dogs. They are mostly quite elderly, and the idea of a 130 lb. dog, who often barks at them when they pass my house, does not strike them as "cute" and "audibly friendly." It strikes them as "deadly" and "motherf***ing scary."
So. I haul my arse out of the car, screaming for the dogs and waving my box of bones, crunching through the snow, which is a foot deep round these parts, and trying to get them to come to me. And even though both dogs "graduated" from dog training school, they don't really use their skills in the outside world. Instead, they oh-so-playfully ran away from me for quite a while.
After lurching around various yards like a complete maniac, I managed to grab Junior. Since Jimmy won't do anything alone, and will follow Junior to the ends of the earth, he followed us on the long trek up the hill to the house. After I locked them in, I walked back down the hill, got back home, and proceeded to have four or five drinks.
Ha, ha! No, I didn't. But I sure wanted to. Instead, I had to attend to my screaming, miserable baby, who realized that she is forever entrusted in the care of a lady who can't even control her dogs.
*(&!*(& DOGS!!!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
Ug. That's the worst feeling in the world. Darn pups. Maybe they had decided to go caroling. You know, spread the Christmas cheer throughout the neighborhood.
I'm sorry, I know it must have been stressful and traumatic, but I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Maybe it 's the idea of Junior trying to blend in and act casual, or Lisa's image of them caroling with little hats on.
First of all, BAD BOYS. Second of all, that was hilarious. How did they leave the electric fence? These are the same dogs that need to be driven to the street if you're taking a walk, right?
Dear Blog,
As you may recall, I am one of the larger, more visible, but frequently misunderstood monkeys on the old ladys' pants. Many years ago, somewhere in Indonesia, they made this substandard blue fabric that was going to be a bag of car polish rags sold by Pep Boys. When Pep Boys rejected the material the Old Navy Clothing Company, with their limitless financial resources and eye for fashion, scooped the fabric up and saw fit to imprint me and my friends on what has become, let's just say in a word "unflattering" pants. I would say Pajama Pants, thats what they are, but she wairs us like real pants. Like many of you deep thinkers in cyberspace I ask myself; Why am I here? What purpose do I serve? Well, now that I have read the old ladys' last two blogs, I know. My purpose is as clear as 3 week old banana juice. My purpose should be to clarify, to capture the whole story behind these well written (not like Steinbeck or anything but she's at least as funny as those courant writers, I think she has a crush on Frank Rizzo), but one sided entries. So with confidence in my purpose and destiny I would like to tell you what really transpires in the Guay household. First lets start with the damb baby. Ok she's cute. Big deal, I'm cute no one ever sings songs to me. Also, have you seen her bowl movements? My god! What the hell is that stuff? And for gods sakes how about keeping the food in your belly and not on your shirt? Christ, the only thing that burps up more than that kid is the freakshow dog. He vomits at least three times a day. I'm just saying. So lets get it straight, it's not all cute roses here. When the two of them aren't vomitting the other dog, who is in dire need of some dental work mind you, drags his ass all over the living room. That sound cute to you? Now I have earned my keep. I have paid my dues. I spend my time on the old lady's legs (where there have been ticks!). Sure, I get a washing a few times a year but how about some rest? Maybe the old man could get her some other pants, maybe with Giraffs. I could get myself one of those fancy interspecies girl friends. That aint gonna happen. The old man is way to busy with his !&$#** guitar to notice any of us. That guy is so full of himself It's a wonder the earth doesn't give way beneath his feet. He thinks he so smart. He's not. Guess who promtly let the friggin dogs out the very next day and had to chase them around the neighboorhood? At least the old lady was unaware of the problem. Yeah so the old man lets them out and forgets about the fence being down. You wanna see graceful, Imagine a grown man falling through the snow, chasing a couple of circus freaks across the neigboorhood. Yeah good times. Then he spends about $80 on a service call to come to the grand realization that the collars needed batteries. Maybe he should have been an engineer. Anyway the point I'm trying to make is that it is not that cool around here. I hope this helps to illuminate my point which is that our lives are not funny, but trajically difficult. OK, I'm off to get a spanish latte at the mall. Also I need to buy one of those fancy "High Quality" phones for a "Good Friend" at Pottery barn.
PS Don't let the old lady read this she will freak out on the misspellings and bad punctuation. How about cutting me some slack I'm just a friggin monkey.
Between the post itself and the comments, this has to rank up there as my most favouritest blog entry anywhere in the history of the blogosphere. Ever.
Long Live Noel!!!
I love Noel, though I'm quite happy my pajama pants are covered in mute snowflakes.
Post a Comment