We are preparing for winter. We will get used to this parka. That's what You Know Who (YKW) thinks anyway. Personally, I hate this thing. I refuse to move when YKW forces me into it. Still, it brings me to the reason I have once again commandeered the keyboard. I won't be talking about a book today, because I have my own story to share with you.
This morning, YKW informed me that as part of the getting ready for winter ritual, today would most likely be the last day the front door would be open for a while. My last day to watch the leaves, the cars, and the wind. I took full advantage. After all, Halloween was a bust. I usually run out of fingers and toes as I count everyone who drops by to visit me. This year, the doorbell hardly rang, so when the door opened to the world this morning, I got into position.
Sitting about five feet from the door gives me a panoramic view of the 'hood. I kept an eye on things from that vantage point while YKW read, not looking up even once to share in my joy. She was so into some story of a woman hiding in a closet that she didn't even notice that I had quietly crept closer to the door, steaming the glass and smudging it with drool. To get her attention, I began a slow version of my doggie tango, kicking my back legs rhythmically while my front end bends around to see if I am being noticed. When I do this, YKW usually takes me outside to empty out. I enjoy that. Today I danced for a different reason. Today I found a big brown dog on my porch. Orange collar. Long leash. Tag with some scratches on it.
YKW went outside, grabbed the leash and tied my buddy to the utility pole at the end of the driveway. He was jumpy but he didn't scare me. She told me his name was Dutch. Now there's a dog not in charge of his own life. No dog would name himself Dutch. His YKW must have looked at him and said, "Oh, he looks like Dutch chocolate; let's call him 'Dutch'". Or else they thought he resembled a late President who went by that name, but I have my doubts. A name is a personal thing, and a fine dog like Dutch should have been consulted before being assaulted with such a stupid moniker. I would have called him Captain Ahab. Two names sound more dignified.
Anyway, this is where the fun begins. If YKW had just let me handle things, the situation would have been resolved quickly. But no. She had to stick her big dyslexic nose into things and try to call the number on the tag. Obviously I heard her end of the conversation, but I got the whole story later when she related it to a neighbor.
YKW: Hi, I live over on _______________and I have your dog.
We don't have a dog. But my kids would love one. I'll be right over to look at it.
YKW: Is this__________________?
No.
YKW: Sorry. I must have dialed wrong.
What kind of dog is it?
YKW: Chocolate lab.
That's great. My kid would love that.
YKW: Ah...this dog has a tag. He belongs to someone.
Where do you live?
YKW:________________________
Really? I live two block away. I'll be right there.
YKW: No, This dog belongs to someone. You can't have it.
Why on earth did you call me then? My kids will be so disappointed. (Click)
See what I mean. Messy. The irony continues. When YKW finally managed to dial correctly, the owner was thrilled to hear that Captain Ahab was safe. She said she'd hop right into her van and drive over and pick him up. Drive over. From four doors down. The good Captain lives on my street. Never seen him before. Probably because they drive him everywhere.
That was my morning. As I write this, I am still encased in the dang parka. Have a good day.
