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Doggone… Dog Back!

We lost our dog today.

Oh, it was only for a half hour or so. Don’t be so dramatic. Jeez.

Honestly, it was a little nervewracking. The pooch has gotten away from my wife a time or two during a walk and scampered off, but this time was a little bit different. This time, the dog ran away without us noticing.

Actually, that may not strictly be true. Late this morning — after seeing the dog several times — we noticed that the wind had blown the back door open. So it’s quite possible the dog simply wandered away without us noticing, as opposed to running away, per se. She may have even moseyed away. She’s quite the moseyer, our mutt; you should see her.

“You’d have a lot more credibility for your story of squalor and starvation if you weren’t packing so much kibble in that caboose of yours.”

Usually when the dog disappears, during one of her constitutionals with the missus, we go off scouring the neighborhood for her… and eventually find her back at the house, as though nothing ever happened. She gives us a look, as if to say:

‘What? Three barks clearly means ‘I’ll meet you back home in twenty minutes’. What’s the big frigging deal? Don’t you speak Lassie-ese?‘

It’s an awkward thing, too, roaming around calling for your dog and having her actually show up again. Of course, that’s what you want to happen, but it’s difficult to know how to act. On the one hand, you can’t beat the hell out of the dog for leaving — she just came back! She might think you’re punishing her for trotting home, and decide to stay gone next time.

On the other hand, if you’ve just spent half an hour poking under houses and screaming ‘Snookie sweetums, come home!‘ within earshot of the neighbors, you probably aren’t in the mood for a reunion celebration, either. I’ve found it’s best to remain coldly polite to the mutt for a while after her return, then give her a good random smack on the head a few days later. She won’t know what it’s for, but it’ll make you feel a bit better about the whole ordeal. That’s what the therapists call ‘closure’.

Today, my wife found the dog on a neighbor’s porch. The mutt was probably bad-mouthing us, saying we never feed her or give her treats, and her only drinking water comes from licking the bathtub after our showers. Boo poochie hoo.

(Note to mutt: You’d have a lot more credibility for your story of squalor and starvation if you weren’t packing so much kibble in that caboose of yours. Also, the fresh flecks of Snausage on the muzzle don’t help much, either. Maybe you should shoot for an ’emotional abuse’ sob story instead; remember that time we were too busy to fluff your nap pillows? You must have been traumatized!)

Anyway, we retrieved our cantankerous canine and all’s well now. She spent most of the day curled up in a blanket on the living room carpet, snoring and farting her way through the afternoon, as is her habit.

(Honestly, she’s like a little burrito-eating narcoleptic — and how she sleeps through the noxious odors she produces is beyond me. Unless they’re knocking her completely unconscious; that I could believe. That dog can wilt roses at fifty paces.)

So, it’s good to have the pooch back. She even garnered herself a few treats around dinnertime, and a nice session of rough-housing followed by a bit of tummy-rubbing in the evening. Why she’d ever want to leave all of this, I’ll never know. We’d miss her terribly, though.

Still. She is so getting an ‘accidental’ kick in the ass in a few days. Not hard enough to make her want to leave again, mind you. Just enough to express how happy I am that she’s back.

So freaking happy… ya mutt.