Ever have a bad day? You know, one of those days that you wish you could just rewind and start over from the moment your feet hit the floor? I am having that day right now.
I woke up bright and early to take Jp to speech. After I had him fully dressed I started my own primping process. Little did I know while I was doing that, Jp was letting the dogs out of their crates. So as soon as I come down the stairs I am greeted by a river of pee on the floor. Grumbling, I clean it up, since I really have no leg to stand on to be mad at anyone. This was high point of my day in hindsight. Now that I have the floor cleaned and the dogs have been out, I try to gather up Jp and his things and head out the door, unsuccessfully attempting to wrangle him and the bags simultaneously. I open the truck door and ask Jp to get in. He looks at me -eyes gleaming with pure, unadulterated mischief- and he takes off down the block. Nooooooooo! At this point I have no choice but to drop my bags and give chase. Down the block I go and all the while Jp is laughing and zipping back and forth. When did this kid learn evasion tactics? Finally, about 7 houses down I get a hand on the hood of his coat and he’s mine. I drag him back to the truck kicking and screaming, as now I am the mean momma that ruined his super fun game. I’m out of breath and feeling that a workout now and then wouldn’t kill me.
Strapped in and now on our way, I cut down a little residential shortcut to the highway. As I am driving I see some smoke. After further investigation I see a Camaro (did I mention my husband drives a Camaro?) has flown head on into a fence right after the bend in the road. Upon seeing a Silver Camaro I immediately panic, mind flying to the worst (and ultimately forgetting that it couldn’t be my husband since he leaves an hour before me), pull my truck over and run up as fast as I can. Bear in mind, my logical brain has yet to process the time difference between when he leaves and when I leave so my emotional brain is still thinking, “that could be Chris!”. A man gets out, looks around, and faints on the spot. I realize it’s not Chris but he is hurt and I run back to the truck to call the police ASAP. On the line they told me the police were already on their way (likely the people’s fence he crashed into) and while I answered a few questions they showed up. They asked me what I knew, which was nothing, and sent me on my to make way for emergency vehicles after taking my name.
And we are not done yet, folks.
I call my husband to tell him about what just happened. As I am blurting out the story at warp speed, adreniline spiking to the point where my hands are shaking on the wheel, he asks me, “Why are you on the road so early? Did they change the appointment time?”. What? Huh? I told him no, it was at the normal time. So he asks me then, “Well, it’s only 8:40. Why did you leave so early?”. I looked down at my clock. I left an entire HOUR early. How did that happen? What was I thinking? I turn the truck around and head home as opposed to being thirty minutes early for speech. Jp’s forte is not waiting rooms.
And we aren’t done yet, folks.
A few uneventful hours later we are done with our appointment and headed home. I am considering crawling back into bed and starting this day over as Jp crashes out in the car (so much for his taking a nap and maybe actually getting something done today…sigh). I do the drive through at McDonald’s since french fries are Jp’s treat for having a good therapy session. I realize as I am in line that I forgot my wallet and am trapped in said line so I make quick work of digging for every penny worth of spare change in my vehicle to pay for the three dollar Happy Meal. Finally, oh finally, I get to head home. My warm, wonderful home where everything is right and makes sense. Most of the time anyway.
I let the dogs out when we come in and take Jp to the table to set him up with his food. As I am getting him out of his coat and hat I hear my big dog going CRAZY in the yard. Ugh. After a quick restroom break I head outside to see what all of the commotion is about. What I find is a hole in my side fence and my Jack Russel is in the neighbor’s yard. Not the back neighbor, as usual, that has a solid fence and is a stay at home mom so I can just call her and ask her to throw him over to me, but the side neighbor that I barely see and have certainly never met. We always joke that they are the most unfriendly people on the planet and actually avoid looking at you or waving. Yep, he’s in their yard. Great, great, just great.
And it doesn’t end there, folks, this is actually where it really starts to get really hairy.
I go find something to stand on so I can see better. I can hear him barking like a crazy dog but I can’t see him anywhere. From atop the chair I can see that he is not in the yard. But I can hear him and he sounds far away. I start scanning the fence line. Could he have gotten out somehow? Then I see another dog in the yard (which I didn’t even know that they had) and look over to their back door -my heart literally skipped a beat and I couldn’t breathe for a whole moment- and saw the dog door. No, no, no, no, NOOOOOO! Is my dog really in these people’s house right now? The unfriendly neighbors? The angry looking ones? Oh my goodness, tell me this isn’t happening! Sure enough, if you listened closely you could hear his bark echoing…like he was in a house with hardwood floors. Oh. My. Goodness.
I didn’t know what to do. I could hear him barking like a madman and had no idea how to get to him. My tiny terror of a dog was in someone’s home. This is beyond terrible. All I can think of to do is tell Jp to wait by the hole in the fence while I go see if they are home, which they never are, and pray that while his receptive may not be the best, that he can rally for me and at least read the urgency in my tone.
I dart out of the front door (on my way out I see my other two dogs on the kitchen table eating Jp’s lunch but keeping priorities straight is clutch in these types of situations) and over to their house. There are fliers from the last week on the stoop. I’m guessing they haven’t been home in awhile. How do they feed their dog? I knock anyway. Nothing but my dog barking. Doorbell. Nothing. So I take off to where the fence opens. Gigantic padlock. Ugh. No one in this neighborhood padlocks their fence, what the heck? So I get some good footing and proceed to scale the 6 foot fence and hop down the other side.
And it doesn’t end there, folks.
So I am creeping like the trespasser that I am through their yard. It is full of trash and torn up plastic bowls (dog food?) and is just a mess. I sneak up to the patio and stick my head in the dog door. Yes, you are reading correctly, I am now breaking and entering on their property. This is not my idea of a good time, I can promise you that. The house is an utter and complete disaster. I am talking dirt and filth, not clutter. So that’s why they aren’t friendly, they’re hoarders. So I start off trying to call my dog. He’s still steady barking like I have never heard him before and that is saying a lot as he is quite known for his vocal nature. I begin trying to call him quietly, hoping and praying the neighbors don’t hear me. I have not heard good things about jail and what I am doing is far from legal. Nothing is working. I am starting to worry that they have some type of animal in a cage in there by the way he is barking. I’m never going to get him out like this. Just as I am starting to think of the logistics of me actually fitting through the dog door (now we enter the land of felonies. Thanks, puppy) he comes running out. With blood on him.
And it doesn’t end there, folks.
I grab him and quickly stuff him through the fence where my awesome son is still waiting to hold him (by the collar, buddy) and I have to scale that fence again. Hello, splinters! Running across the yard and back to my house at top speed, I am hoping my dog is okay. Maybe he was fighting a cat in there and it got up on something and that is why he was barking like a rabid animal. I thought I was a scared as I have ever been in that instant. But not as scared as I was going to be.
‘Cause I am still not done, folks.
Jp and I go running in with him, Jp asking, tearfully, “Are you o-kay?”. I told him to follow me (he’s quite the little listener in a clinch!) and we threw puppy in the tub and I grabbed the Hydrogen Peroxide. As I am cleaning him and checking for cuts I start to realize with utter horror…that the blood isn’t from him. But if it’s not from him then how did he get it on….oh god, I am going to be sick.
I called my husband for the second time today in hysterics. I was babbling and I may have been crying a bit as well. Jp was happily washing the puppy and seemed not to notice me at all so I tiptoed out of the room to talk. Chris has, at this point, convinced me that if it was a cat that puppy would have scratches -which he doesn’t- and most likely because of the state of affairs with their house and yard it was a rat. That is what Jack Russel’s are bred for and my backyard neighbor found them in her shed recently though we have never had them in ours. He has me mostly convinced.
Something tells me, though, I am going to be walking around on pins and needles waiting for the doorbell to ring for days.
So….how was your day? I may be taking a very uncharacteristic nap which will probably be full of nightmares…errr…daymares.
I'm just living minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.