Furry Friends
When I came home last night, I was met at the door by a rather unattractive version of this.
Seriously, he appeared to be a somewhat unfortunate mix of an Ewok and my cousin LaNelda, with nicer hair (and better breath).
It seems as though The Boy found this animal rolling around in the street, completely ignoring suggested traffic patterns, and dusting himself up good with the piles of dirt and gravel piled on the double yellow lines.
Standing in the foyer, he looked at me quizzically, stating in inaudible doggie telepathy that I probably shouldn't be allowed inside, but, what the hell. He never barked. He never jumped. He never even came over to sniff me. Just blank stares and a nervous grin.
My own furbabies, however, were just beside themselves with concern. "Mom! Mom! Look what The Boy brought home THIS time! Mom! Mom! Can we keep him? Huh? Mom! He's stupid, look at him! We can use him as a tackling dummy, c'mon, PLEASE??!"
I couldn't quite confirm if the dog was deaf, or just ignorant. He did not come when called, even when attempting to entice him with some really smelly chewy dog-treat-impersonation-type chunks of bliss. He pissed on my new table. He ate all the dog food and drank three bowls of water. He pissed on my dishwasher. He wandered around shamelessly, ignoring the desperate attentions of Big Dawg. Little Dawg guarded a corner of the kitchen with a snarling welcome. He didn't "do" stairs. I had to coax him to the basement and out to the yard to show him the proper place to potty. By 'coax', I mean lift and carry, because, well, he just didn't "do" stairs. We've already established that.
Josh knew the owners, as confirmed by several passers-by who knew the dog as well. Attempts made to contact these owners were futile, so naturally, we again became the halfway house for rescued strays. We have installed a revolving door, clearly marked by a flashing neon "vacancy" sign. The non-emergency phone number to the borough police is posted on my fridge. Andy and Barney themselves have stopped by on occasion to check my inventory if someone's pet goes missing. And most people are grateful with our efforts. We've had cats and dogs of all shapes and sizes, from orange tabbies to snotty siamese, from a little rat terrier to a big bull mastiff. One time we had a guinea pig. The owners tend towards proclaiming "Oh THANK YOU, I was so worried". But not this family. No, we were chewed out this time. After a full day out of drinking and playing in the sun, the last thing they wanted to do was fetch their pet. They hadn't been home since NOON, after all, and now they have to run this silly errand. How dare we.
Seems this dog gets out frequently. He just wanders around and always comes home. They seemed miffed that they had to come and get him. Next time, they scolded, just leave him where you found him. He'll come back, he always does. He hasn't been hit yet. YET. I love that. Not an ounce of appreciation. They scoffed at the concern over the large coal trucks barreling down the highway that narrowly missed him. They sniffed at the inquiry about the dog's hearing and lack of startle reflex - even sudden movements didn't faze him. We were reprimanded for the rescue, for having caused them to come over at 1:30 AM to fetch their pet. I said it could wait until morning. Oh, no no no, they groaned, we wouldn't want your dogs to get their cooties all over him, after all. That would just be icky. Jaggoffs.
Seriously, he appeared to be a somewhat unfortunate mix of an Ewok and my cousin LaNelda, with nicer hair (and better breath).
It seems as though The Boy found this animal rolling around in the street, completely ignoring suggested traffic patterns, and dusting himself up good with the piles of dirt and gravel piled on the double yellow lines.
Standing in the foyer, he looked at me quizzically, stating in inaudible doggie telepathy that I probably shouldn't be allowed inside, but, what the hell. He never barked. He never jumped. He never even came over to sniff me. Just blank stares and a nervous grin.
My own furbabies, however, were just beside themselves with concern. "Mom! Mom! Look what The Boy brought home THIS time! Mom! Mom! Can we keep him? Huh? Mom! He's stupid, look at him! We can use him as a tackling dummy, c'mon, PLEASE??!"
I couldn't quite confirm if the dog was deaf, or just ignorant. He did not come when called, even when attempting to entice him with some really smelly chewy dog-treat-impersonation-type chunks of bliss. He pissed on my new table. He ate all the dog food and drank three bowls of water. He pissed on my dishwasher. He wandered around shamelessly, ignoring the desperate attentions of Big Dawg. Little Dawg guarded a corner of the kitchen with a snarling welcome. He didn't "do" stairs. I had to coax him to the basement and out to the yard to show him the proper place to potty. By 'coax', I mean lift and carry, because, well, he just didn't "do" stairs. We've already established that.
Josh knew the owners, as confirmed by several passers-by who knew the dog as well. Attempts made to contact these owners were futile, so naturally, we again became the halfway house for rescued strays. We have installed a revolving door, clearly marked by a flashing neon "vacancy" sign. The non-emergency phone number to the borough police is posted on my fridge. Andy and Barney themselves have stopped by on occasion to check my inventory if someone's pet goes missing. And most people are grateful with our efforts. We've had cats and dogs of all shapes and sizes, from orange tabbies to snotty siamese, from a little rat terrier to a big bull mastiff. One time we had a guinea pig. The owners tend towards proclaiming "Oh THANK YOU, I was so worried". But not this family. No, we were chewed out this time. After a full day out of drinking and playing in the sun, the last thing they wanted to do was fetch their pet. They hadn't been home since NOON, after all, and now they have to run this silly errand. How dare we.
Seems this dog gets out frequently. He just wanders around and always comes home. They seemed miffed that they had to come and get him. Next time, they scolded, just leave him where you found him. He'll come back, he always does. He hasn't been hit yet. YET. I love that. Not an ounce of appreciation. They scoffed at the concern over the large coal trucks barreling down the highway that narrowly missed him. They sniffed at the inquiry about the dog's hearing and lack of startle reflex - even sudden movements didn't faze him. We were reprimanded for the rescue, for having caused them to come over at 1:30 AM to fetch their pet. I said it could wait until morning. Oh, no no no, they groaned, we wouldn't want your dogs to get their cooties all over him, after all. That would just be icky. Jaggoffs.
posted by Julie at 8:13 AM
6 Comments:
I love that...he hasn't been hit YET!?!? As if that little thing will have a snowball's chance playing in traffic. When he IS hit, they'll probably just run out and buy another.
Next time he shows up, don't tell them you have him, call me, and we'll find him a good home.
Did I mention I volunteer in animal rescue?
{I knew you were good people}
We've had the same thing happen to us...find a stray dog with a tag, call the owner, who reluctantly comes to get their precious pet. These people should not be allowed to have pets, let alone children. I'm sure they have at least a couple, right?
Yikes. It makes me sick to think what people do to their pets. Poor thing. Good for you for taking care of that little guy.
Jeez people make me sick. I totally agree......... jaggoffs!!
Your mood thingamajiggy says you are twitterpated.
Could you describe twitterpated?? Hehe:)
Next time, gather up all of his "deposits" for the day in a plastic bag and hand them over when you give back their beloved pet. Or better yet, leave them in a flaming paper bag on their front step ;)
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