Whoa, who knew somebody would keep looking here?
That is nice.
I stopped blogging for a while because work was itself and specifying what is so frustrating about that particular hamster wheel would most certainly get me dooced.
Anyway, the refi came through with just a few slam down the phone and scream moments, the roof got replaced in the same fashion, and the fella deflected my plan to hire a window professional but now he has all my new ones in.
I had oral surgery that went poorly Friday and am sitting on my couch, windows open to the early Spring, robins chirping, new Boston terrier buddy snoring next to me. Lortab and doggies ftw.
Oh, the dog story!
Christmas was nice; the girl and her dear boyfriend were scheduled to fly in for a bit. I was shopping a few days prior and on my way to the gym when a van crossed in front of me at a red light. It turned on to a busy four-lane street and was followed in hot pursuit by a Boston Terrier, running desperately behind it. I enraged three other citizens turning around to follow the dog, in an attempt to prevent its death in the street. I found it panting and exhausted at a store parking lot. He came to me when called and jumped in the car. He was so adorable and well mannered I hated to put up posters, but I did. While my fella walked him around the neighborhood in search of his owner, I put up posters on all the cross-streets that were the direction from which he had come. I told my child about him and she was all full of longing: oh, a dog for Christmas. My fella, a cat person to the core, fell for him during their walk and hoped out loud the owners would not call. I was astounded.
The owners called four hours later. There were some iffy things that happened before they showed up, twenty minutes late from a purported address three blocks away. They drove up in a car that was past beater status three years ago. They got out, smiling, and the dog rushed to them happily. As they thanked us, my heart sank more; both of them were skinny as rails, pale, with telltale meth spots on their teeth, and the guy had some picked spots on his face and neck while the girl had half of one eyebrow missing. My lovely, dear little dog was going home with his meth-head mom and dad. Nothing to be done, he obviously loved them.
My fella did not notice the meth signs. He was super quiet for a few days, though. Christmas came, and my daughter enjoyed her visit although she mourned the lack of a dog in the house. I told her about keeping the secret from my fella about the meth use; we sighed over the little dog and gave him up to the universe. It was a year since Lily died and we both start crying when we think of her. I hauled the kids back to Dallas for their return flight and came home to a quiet house with two cats. Back on the hamster wheel I went.
About two days back into the New Year at work, my cell buzzed with a number that seemed familiar but I couldn't place it. It was meth-head girl; they could not keep the dog and needed fifty bucks. Sold.
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My fence is currently torn down for renovation, so the fella keeps the dog for now. He is a huge hit; the adult neighbors offer to babysit so he won't be lonely while we are at work, the neighbor kids beg to play with him, and the golfers put the clubs up to watch him play soccer with us in the back yard. He is good around the cats, all six of them, and he loves to ride in the car with us and snuggle in the recliner with the fella at TV time. I do not love him like I loved Lily; missing the puppy stage leaves a little hole. But he is a joyful addition to our lives.
That is nice.
I stopped blogging for a while because work was itself and specifying what is so frustrating about that particular hamster wheel would most certainly get me dooced.
Anyway, the refi came through with just a few slam down the phone and scream moments, the roof got replaced in the same fashion, and the fella deflected my plan to hire a window professional but now he has all my new ones in.
I had oral surgery that went poorly Friday and am sitting on my couch, windows open to the early Spring, robins chirping, new Boston terrier buddy snoring next to me. Lortab and doggies ftw.
Oh, the dog story!
Christmas was nice; the girl and her dear boyfriend were scheduled to fly in for a bit. I was shopping a few days prior and on my way to the gym when a van crossed in front of me at a red light. It turned on to a busy four-lane street and was followed in hot pursuit by a Boston Terrier, running desperately behind it. I enraged three other citizens turning around to follow the dog, in an attempt to prevent its death in the street. I found it panting and exhausted at a store parking lot. He came to me when called and jumped in the car. He was so adorable and well mannered I hated to put up posters, but I did. While my fella walked him around the neighborhood in search of his owner, I put up posters on all the cross-streets that were the direction from which he had come. I told my child about him and she was all full of longing: oh, a dog for Christmas. My fella, a cat person to the core, fell for him during their walk and hoped out loud the owners would not call. I was astounded.
The owners called four hours later. There were some iffy things that happened before they showed up, twenty minutes late from a purported address three blocks away. They drove up in a car that was past beater status three years ago. They got out, smiling, and the dog rushed to them happily. As they thanked us, my heart sank more; both of them were skinny as rails, pale, with telltale meth spots on their teeth, and the guy had some picked spots on his face and neck while the girl had half of one eyebrow missing. My lovely, dear little dog was going home with his meth-head mom and dad. Nothing to be done, he obviously loved them.
My fella did not notice the meth signs. He was super quiet for a few days, though. Christmas came, and my daughter enjoyed her visit although she mourned the lack of a dog in the house. I told her about keeping the secret from my fella about the meth use; we sighed over the little dog and gave him up to the universe. It was a year since Lily died and we both start crying when we think of her. I hauled the kids back to Dallas for their return flight and came home to a quiet house with two cats. Back on the hamster wheel I went.
About two days back into the New Year at work, my cell buzzed with a number that seemed familiar but I couldn't place it. It was meth-head girl; they could not keep the dog and needed fifty bucks. Sold.
.JPG)
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