This has been a very interesting weekend, to say the least. I am happy to say that I made it through with my sanity intact and now only have to sleep and it’s back to work again. Oh yay!
Mom and I had a nice Friday afternoon/evening together, and it was nice because we haven’t had lots of time lately to just hang out the two of us. Things have been busy, between the houses and the parents’ businesses and the day-to-day grind. It was great to kick back and talk about stuff that didn’t pertain to some grand emergency or some mission that had to be accomplished.
I was somewhat in angst on Friday, or rather quite a bit, contemplating the fact that Dr. Love wanted to go to the country bar to dance that evening, having been invited by a girl from his work who I KNOW is interested in him. She texts him all day and talks about how wonderful and genius-like and nice and silly he is. Well, yes, he is all those things; however, get your 23 year old mitten-knittin’ paws off him. Dr. Love doesn’t have a clue.
We ended up not going — Dr. Love decided he was too tired from working 10 hours Friday and then the inevitability of another 12 hours the next day. I was game to go, show this girl that I was raised better than she was (to be hitting on someone she knows has a serious girlfriend). It wasn’t in the cards. In the end, I’m glad we didn’t go because I’m tired too and a loud country bar where all the 20-something hipsters go to dance isn’t really my idea of a good time.
Saturday started out fairly normally. I had therapy with GoM and it went well, as it generally does. Other than almost getting killed on the way up there by rabid football fans with poor driving skills, it was a good few hours. I came home, grabbed quarters, and went and cleaned out my car. It really needed it. Like, bad. I even found a few petrified french fries and cheetos. How yum.
When I finished at the car wash, I went to the auto parts store and bought some cleaning supplies and came home and cleaned out in the driveway for about two hours. Unbeknownst to me, my worst nightmare had been playing out since early that morning.
Kizzie ran away that Saturday, sometime after I left for therapy at 9:00 but before 10:00, because that’s when the first report came into Animal Control. I ended up figuring out she was gone around 2:00 p.m., when I came in from cleaning my car. I looked in every closet, under the bed, in the backyard. She was nowhere to be found.
Inside I was panicking but I knew I had to stay calm if I wanted to make it through this on my own (everyone else was working). I came inside and Googled the local animal shelter and, lo and behold, they had Kizzie. The Animal Control officer even met me over at the shelter to give me my ticket.
The shelter is an absolutely awful and depressing place. I am not saying that they don’t do great things by saving dogs, but it’s not a place I would ever choose to visit and certainly not a place I want my dog to be in. After paying $20 for a “boarding” fee and receiving a $65 ticket for a dog at large, plus transportation and court costs, Kizzie and I literally ran out the door into the safety of my car.
She was totally freaked out and so was I. I managed to drive back across town somehow and immediately took her into the bathroom and scrubbed her down. In addition to being in the shelter with God-knows-what germs and vermin, she had taken the time while she was out to roll in dog doo. Lovely.
I blocked the bottom of the gate where I think she got out at, and closed the doggie door so she couldn’t go out. The tags she had on her were worthless — they had the address and phone number of our old house. In a heartwarming note, my neighbors that found her (she was found one block to the West, the opposite direction of the very busy street we livie next to) tried calling that number and even drove by the old house to see if we were home. That is why I still have faith in people, for acts of kindness like that.
I was pretty much an exhausted wreck once I finished giving Kizz her bath. I sat in front of the computer, not really seeing, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. I was able to talk to QoB and Big Dog and regale them with my saga. That was nice, because that adrenaline was really rolling through my veins. That motivated me enough to cook myself dinner and go downstairs for a movie, and talk to QoB again, and then finally Dr. Love was home.
So I survived my greatest fear — Kizzie running away. I did without a total emotional meltdown and I am getting close to feeling back to normal, 24 hours later. It helps that my lovely stepsister and her beautiful new baby came and distracted me this afternoon. I cooked everyone stir-fry and egg rolls while Dr. Love did a bunch of things on the house because Sara’s oldest was on his computer.
I want to say thank you and I love you to whoever found my Kizzer dog and took her to a safe place. My world would not be the same without her.
Karma begets kismet. Or is it kismet begets karma. I’m not really sure, but I know they go hand in hand.
Ben Harper, Steal My Kisses