BAAAAD DOG

This bad boy was in no way injured in the telling of this tale---the colorful bandages were applied the morning after Easter by Sweetpea. She was not given free rein of her Easter Basket goodies, and in lieu of Reese’s eggs, was placated with a box of bright Bang-Daids, with which she soothed the ails and injuries of her arms and legs, the dog, her high-chair, the refrigerator and the clock.

But yesterday. Ahhhh, yesterday. She and her Mommy had already left for the day when this saga unfolds; I think it a blessing, for I cannot think what I would have DONE with an almost-three young lady who is coming into her own MIND, as they say. She’s not yet a THAT CHILD, but then, that would not be so bad, now would it? Except for that "I don't WANT to," part.

We’d had a rompin’ stompin’ bike-riding, neighbor-visiting, pool-splashing day, with both breakfast and lunch on the patio, (right now, you Mamas out there---you know how hard it is to truck stuff in and out of the house, to butt-bump the door and plead, with your hands full of lemonade cups and puzzles and towels, when the little one just doesn’t WANT to come in?) Well, it was THAT kind of day.

She went home, and I took the last microt of my meager energy to pick up cups and bib and errant shoes and all the other attendant necessaries to spending a day out-of-doors. I opened the gates, as Chris would be driving in very soon, and then I dragged myself and one armload into the house and down the stairs---OH-so-ready for a shower and a big icy glass of tea. I poured the tea, headed for the bathroom, kicked off my clogs. Then I remembered, I had Caro’s phone in my pocket, where I’d been carrying it all day, having no time to find my own in the milliseconds we’d been in the house to teetee or to grab something. It had to go back in the charger upstairs.

I heard barking from outside---FuzzyPup’s dinner hour had crept by, and so I trudged out onto the concrete, mustering the strength to go get him, and, since I hadn’t paid much attention to him all day, talking to him in a Kitchy-Koo voice about dinners, and we were going to GET those dinners, yes, we WERRRRRE. He bounced excitedly as I feeble-footed my way across patio and grass, and I, flattered, mistakenly took the enthusiasm for my charming company, or my really special way with Alpo, take your pick.

The second that leash-clip left the collar ring, he was off like a shot, over and out the driveway and across the street. I know this, because I winced my way after him as fast as I could go. I got to the end of our drive to see him disappearing into the far back yard of an across-the-street neighbor. Now the choice: Go back for shoes, or tickle-toe on across the pavement and driveways, hoping to keep an eye on his trajectory.

So I went, hip-hopping, missing rocks, finding some, easing my way back and through between the houses---no sight of him, just alleyways, garages, one big fenced yard.

No choice, now---I’d lost him. I’d called “Fuzzy, COME!!” til I was hoarse, so I came home, grabbed shoes and Caro’s phone AGAIN, and went out once more, down the very same drive into the same back yard, where I spotted Fuzzy. I called him once again, then realized he was INSIDE that big fence, with no gate in sight. And he was taking a poop IN THEIR YARD.

Mortified, getting REALLY grumpy and VERY tired and hot, I retraced. Out and around the longest house in the county, to find a sign on the door: DO NOT KNOCK---day sleeper. Hoping to make free with their gate and somehow clean up after Pup, I headed for the fence. STILL no gate in sight, but a big flap in the fence, from which he’d escaped during my LONG walk out and around.

Thought I heard barking over my shoulder. Went that way, around ANOTHER block, through the strip mall, over and around and through, and back to the same place, finding quite a few dogs minding their own dogly business in their OWN yards, bless their hearts.

Across the street once again, shading my eyes against the sun, and waaay ahead, I saw a very small form, moving very slowly in my direction. I walked toward him, calling out “Good Boy, Come” in my most syrupy, enticing voice, wanting only to get my hands on THAT DOG.

He has such a shaggy coat, and had run in the heat, and he was just exhausted, panting and tongue hanging, so I picked him up like a baby and staggered the blocks back home. I hope the neighbors thought I was talking sweet baby-talk to him all the way home as I gazed down on his cute, lolling face.

I was not. I set him down at our driveway, and he ran for his water dish, drinking long laps of water, then came into the house slowly, where he spent most of the evening near his indoor water, sprawled like a flat frog on the cool kitchen slate.

And I still haven't found my phone.