|Do you recognize this dog?
||[Apr. 19th, 2011|03:10 pm]
Bullets are all I can manage in between head nods. Not that they’re actual bullets, because I don’t know how to make them. And you know what? Deal with it. I’m getting all hardass and oldschool. Hiding my online incapacities behind rationalizing that you can look your own stuff up and grok that short paragraphs may not always tell one long story. YOU figure out where one thought starts and the next begins. Manage your own transitions. |
I was just reviewing a report that listed Ivory Shoe Bag with PMS. I will probably giggle about that for the rest of the day. Especially since I just ate an entire Ritter bar with hazelnuts and we all know what THAT presages.
(Whew. You don’t know how HARD it is to work “presage” into a post when you’re tired.)
Speaking of tired. Ma-don’! As we used to say in the ‘hood. If you can call a predominantly Italian Catholic suburban neighborhood a ‘hood. Sort of a triple irony score, if you’re playing Trope Scrabble.
See, last night I heard this barking and barking and barking and it was not a dog I recognized. (Call it nosy, call it observant, call it keenly attuned to the rhythms (I cannot spell that word without looking it up. And yes, I AM running on a Blood Diet Mountain Dew Level of 5.3% and we will be leaping around, people, so try and keep up) of my neighborhood. (No longer ‘hood, because it’s only funny if you don’t really mean it. In other words, make your joke and move on. Which begs a drive-by comedy joke...but that would require a lot of WASP jokes to balance it out and I only know so many. How can you tell which one is the bride at a WASP wedding? She’s the one kissing the golden retriever. How many WASPs does it take to change a light bulb? Three. Two to mix cocktails, one to call the electrician. What’s a WASP ménage at trois? Two headaches and one hard-on. Nah, still not enough and I AM in the middle of a damn story.)
So, there was a strange barking. And I finally can’t stand it and go out to investigate. (Which is at once, the thing I hate MOST about myself AND the thing I am secretly PROUD of: Doing the right thing/what NEEDS to be done. Also known as being everyone’s bitch and ensuring that you have no time for yourself because you are too busy doing all of the non-fun things that no one else in their right mind will do.) And it’s a very small black and tan dog running around a neighbor’s fenced in yard, barking at his front and back door. He’s got a big labradoodle, so I know it’s not his, but I verify and when he says it’s not his, I try not to break down and cry.
Because I know what this means. It’s 9:30pm. I’m going to put a leash on the dog and walk it around, desperately hoping that the dog will lead me to its home, or that someone, somewhere will recognize it. “Oh, hey, that’s Joe Smith’s dog. Joe lives right over there.” Because honestly, that rarely happens. And yep, after an hour of trudging around the neighborhood in my pajamas and slippers...I bow to the inevitable and ask the Captain to prepare a dog crate.
Because I am that person. The one that has the animal control number in her phone. That has 4 different sizes of crates, food bowls and piles of old blankets and towels. And can I just say, I’m bloody weary of it. Mostly because...these dogs almost always have no ID on them. Seriously, if your dog is not tattoo’ed, please, skip the Starbucks until you have enough money to put a microchip in them. A rabies tag is NOT ID. Because I ONLY find your dog when the vet’s offices are closed. THREE bloody times I have found dogs that have outdated contact information on their ID tag. Seriously. A new tag is less than $10 at the pet store. Make it happen. Tonight. And you know what, your dog’s NAME is the last bit of information you need on that tag. Phone and address. Or three different phone numbers. Because I am really, really tired of having to work so goddamned hard to get your dog back to you.
I won’t bore you with the gory details of a near sleepless night – as Jane Dog spent most of it whining and barking. And yes, I could have put her in the basement in a crate, but I knew that would be near non-stop barking and trust me, this dog’s bark hit a pitch that pretty much shut down my head each time. Three floors down was still going to be impossible to ignore. Plus, I don’t know that I could sleep knowing that she was frightened. Because she clearly was somebody’s baby. The two times we finally did manage to fall asleep...well, first, a carload arrived in the neighborhood to break into our cars. Foiled by a neighbor, but there were car alarms and slamming doors and people creeping around and oh, yeah, five pounds of barking ferocity in my bedroom. And after we settled down after that, the police arrived. More slamming of doors, and walking around, more barking...sigh. So, I’m running on 4 hours of sleep altogether, taken in about 30 minute increments.
The good news is, this morning, I was able to reach out to animal control and, wonder of wonders, the owner had actually put in a report on the dog. (Seriously, the last several dogs, nothing. No report. Call animal control the very first thing, my friends. Because that’s who I’m calling first. ) And within an hour, a very happy family who ALSO hadn’t slept the night before was reunited with Lola. They didn’t look like they had much – Dad’s English was spotty and his truck had seen better days – but the kids were well-mannered and everyone clearly loved the dog and were grateful. Which is enough for me.
Although – those of you who DO have more..seriously, someone has gone to great effort to find your dog and get it back to you. Flowers, a fruit basket, a bottle of wine, a nice note. Send your kid to mow their lawn. Something. I never used to care so much, but honestly, I am worn OUT from this stuff. One woman (dog had tags with outdated address and phone number...after taking dog to THAT address, a neighbor gave me the new address...so took the dog THERE) couldn’t even be bothered to get off the phone, just held it aside a moment and said “Thanks, I didn’t even know she was gone” and then turn away, leaving her 12 year old to say thank you for bringing Sally back, I love her. Another one proceeded to just grab the dog and say ‘now I’m late for work!” and shut the door in my face. Another one, I found while he was out looking for the dog..without a leash, so I loaned him my custom made leather leash one of a matched set for my two dogs, pointed out my house and said just bring it back once you’ve got the dog back. Now I have ONE leather leash. I mean, okay, I do it for the animals, not the people. But seriously, is it any wonder that I see a loose dog and I ask myself, can I live with myself if I just pretend I don’t see it?
But I do it anyway. Paying it forward against the day one of mine goes wandering. But still. A card, maybe. Just to restore my faith in humanity.
And then I didn't wind up doing bullets anyway, blathering away on this one topic and never actually getting to the others. Well. What can you do? Some days you ride the muse, other days she rides you.
I just wish she'd lay off the spurs.