Sunday, October 3, 2010

We Could All Use Another Good Dog Story, Right?

Well.  Well. Well.

Be careful what you say since it has a way of coming back to you in an unexpected way!

Yesterday, as we prepared to pick up our new addition, Floppy, I mentioned to The Husband that we have always had a good dog story to tell.  I wondered out loud what "our story" about Floppy would be.  Oh my...

This weekend, we traded our two guinea pigs for five-year old Floppy, a long-haired dauschund from a sweet family that wasn't home enough to give Floppy a lot of attention, but were willing to help us by taking the piggies (since our girls were allergic to them).  The trade went smoothly, but it became obvious on the ten-minute ride back to our house that Floppy was clearly upset.  She was shaking and no longer wagging her tail.  The girls tried to comfort her and we all spoke sweetly to her.  By the time we got her out of the van and brought her inside, she was shaking so badly I was not sure what to do.  I held her for a bit and I thought maybe if we took her back outside in the grass she would calm down.  Since our Dobie was in the backyard, I decided to save her the final blow that would cause her heart attack by avoiding the 100-pound scary dog and took her in the front/side yard.  Yup.  The one. with. no. fence. around. it.

The Husband was just a few minutes away from leaving for his limo job...he had on his dress pants, white shirt and dress shoes, so he sort of lingered in the doorway as we went out.  As soon as I found a quiet spot far from the road, I gently set down Floppy, who exploded like a rocket and started running into the neighbors yard.  Through big poky trees.  I started jogging after her thinking to myself, how fast can she run on those stubby little legs?  Apparently, she can run faster than an out-of-shape forty year old mother of three who did not gracefully navigate the trees.  All of a sudden I find myself sprinting down the road yelling HELP!....then, I hear The Husband from behind asking me who I'm calling to help me (Uh....duh...Jesus or the police or the Dog Whisperer, ok Sweetie?  It's called panic, I'm quite good at yelling random ridiculous things like that.....).  The next thing I see is The Husband running down the road (the two of them were no longer in the grassy safety of yards) in his dress clothes.  To which I think for a split second, he looked like he was in a James Bond movie.  In the other half of that microsecond, I realize that we left #2 and #3 at the house hysterical, so I sprint (not really "sprint" anymore, since I was already battling a chest cold for a week.  I more or less jog/wheezed my way back home) and jumped in the van with the kids and half of my wits about me to drive after James Bond and the Wiener Dog (that title is being copyrighted for a future Brandon Hess movie, Brandon just doesn't know it yet).

I found The Husband a few blocks away in a field.  Not good.  I live in the country where there are many fields with knee high grass.  I realize that the only person Floppy will come to is the lady we got her from (whose house I had just left about fifteen minutes ago).  I went to grab my cell phone to call her and then realized it must have fallen out of my sweatshirt while I was running after Floppy.  I had to leave the search effort to go retrieve my phone...thinking to myself....WHO DOES THIS???  Who loses a dog less than three minutes of it bringing it home??  And, then loses her cell phone trying to catch the dog with little legs??? I do! I do!

Thankfully, we found the phone, I call the lady and she rushes over to the field with me  The Husband had to leave for work and on his way, was supposed to drop off #2 and a friend at play practice.  It's all a blur, but I parked in a place where I could have a good view of the fields because when you are actually in the fields, you can't see your own feet, much less a ten-pound dog that stands an inch or two off the ground.  All of a sudden, Floppy heard her previous owner call her and began running towards her in the field.  Then, The Husband shows up with my friend following him (who came to offer her help when she dropped her daughter off for play practice and learned of the incident).  All of a sudden, I'm looking out into the field and Floppy was gone again.  She changed her mind and ran away from her previous owner, who was trying frantically to call to her.

Here is where I have to tell you that #3 sat in the back of the van in tears praying through the entire ordeal.  I was praying, the Husband was praying and the girls were texting their friends and they were all praying.  Tune in tomorrow for the happy ending and The Parable of the Wiener Dog.....

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

what a crew sounds like floopy will fit right in