"Here Boy! Come Here!!!!"

It's the Tuesday after the election...that's all I'm going to say about that.  Life is moving forward and I with it. 

On to more important issues, like the fact that I lost Matt's dog. Yah, I'm a GREAT puppy mom. To make a very long and convoluted plot short, I escaped the office early today to avoid dealing with a La Princessa disaster.  (I'm sneaky like that).  So, I get home about 3:30 and decide this will be a perfect time to crank up the Ipod and take down all the Halloween decor that is still haunting my house...you know, the bloody shower curtain, the severed heads, and the 6 foot ghouls hanging around the trees in the front yard.  It's a pretty day so I just have the screen door shut on the front of the house, leave the back door open and let Lola (the Wonder Corgi and BEST dog ever) and Roscoe (Matt's super-hyper Jagdterrier puppy in training) roam around in and outside the house while I de-horrorize all my rooms.  

So, I'm in the back of the house putting some skulls and various body parts in the Halloween storage bins when I hear Lola start barking like a mad woman, uh...dog.  I yell at her to hush. She doesn't.   I yell towards the front of the house again for her to HUSH!!!  And she doesn't. This is odd...Lola is very obedient.  So I walk to the front of the house to find Lola barking like CRAZY at the front door and she is all in a frenzy.  I'm telling her to be quiet and looking out the front door for some ghost, dog walker or crazy ass ex-boyfriend stalker that she might be barking at and then notice...where is her partner in crime? Where is Roscoe? Why is he not at the door with her barking like a hound from Hell?

So I call for him...no response.  I start looking all over the house...no Roscoe. I go into the backyard and call for him...no super hyper puppy comes bounding my way.  Lola goes back to the front door barking again.  It dawns on me--"did he get out the front screen door? It's shut, but did he get out?" 

Uh, yah. The answer is Hell yes he managed to open the screen door and get out.  So I'm outside yelling for him and looking around with no idea where the puppy-on-crack has gone to while thinking, "Great. I've lost Matt's dog. He is going to get lost, starve, get hurt and I'll never find him. Lola will be heartbroken and need counseling."  

Then I see TomCat (one of our other furry children) come sauntering up the hill towards the house and I realize that Roscoe has gone "that way." (TomCat likes to follow me and the dogs on our walks like some super stealthy cat spy...I have no idea why, but if it makes him happy...) So I head down the giant hill still yelling for Roscoe.  At the bottom of the hill are two guys loading a moving van and as I'm thinking I will just ask them if they have seen a super hyper black blur of fur go by I see him.  Roscoe comes bounding over another hill about a block away at full speed heading straight for the movers.  I start yelling for him, but he is way more intent on getting in the moving van.  Luckily the two guys see me and grab Roscoe and hold him (no small feat, mind you) until I get there.  I thank them and one of the guys says, "Um I think your cat followed him down here?" I just reply, "Yes, but the cat is smart enough to find his way home." and gracefully attempt to heave Roscoe up into my arms to carry him in all his squirming "free" glory back up the freaking steep ass hill to the house. (In my disarray I hadn't even thought of grabbing his leash when I went looking for him...yah, brilliant).

So, I'm holding Roscoe as un-awkardly as possible and start up the hill from Hell while ecstatic to have found him and pissed at him for running off.  

Then a car drives by.  

Roscoe likes cars. 

In fact, he LOVES cars. 

He loves to chase them. Even when he is on a leash this presents a problem and it's something we have been "working on" for a few weeks now.  But, needless to say, we aren' t "there" yet with the car thing.  So, Roscoe goes, oh, how shall we say....um, ape-shit over this car...while I'm still holding him...and I have the claw marks on my arms to prove it.  It was like I was trying to hold a wolverine or something. So, we survive this and I keep walking up the hill.

Then, here comes a fellow neighbor walking her giant lab. Roscoe likes labs.  In fact, he loves labs. In fact, he loves all other forms of dog on earth.  (you see where I am going with this) Again...we are "working on " this. (sigh) So, Roscoe starts going nut-so for the lab and I can no longer hold him in fear of having an artery ripped open.  So, I put him down and keep ahold of his collar and he starts "the barking."  Now, Roscoe does not bark often, but when he does his natural voice sounds like something that would make paint peel.  Shrill is not the word.  So, he starts barking, as if I am skinning him alive. The friendly neighbor looks very concerned, stops and asks if we are ok.  I am crouched down over Roscoe trying to keep my balance over him while he is pulling with all his might against my hold on his collar while emitting death rattle noises and I manage to smile and say, "We're fine. But just move on, please."  Wisely, she does. 

So, after threatening Roscoe within an inch of his life, I hoist him back up into my clawed and bleeding arms and manage to carry him (against his will) up the rest of the hill to the house. When we get to the bottom of the front porch stairs I put him down, still keeping ahold of his collar so I can catch my breath. Hmmm...he suddenly decides he now needs to be in the house...now...now...NOW!!! So, he takes off up the flight of 12 concrete stairs with my hand caught in his collar and me in tow.  I can't type the words I said...I'm sure they are not PG-13 or even R-rated.  So, we make it in the house. I am about to die...I can barely breathe, I have puppy scars up and down my arms and my knees are sprouting brilliantly red and purple new stair-bump-bruises.  Roscoe, on the other hand, is ecstatic and comes running at me with his lamb-toy ready to play some more!

Yah, Roscoe gets put out in the backyard.

I wash my arms off....I breathe deeply...I pick the various fur/leaves/grass off my shirt...I pour a large glass of wine.

Roscoe is going to obedience classes...soon.