Holy Freakin' Crap!

SMALL UPDATE NEAR BOTTOM:

So yesterday was one of those days at work when it seems that the sole purpose of other human beings on this planet is to annoy the crap out of me. It wasn't a bad day, per se, but it was an annoying one...

Then, when I get home, I hear the dog whining and carrying on in the backyard, so I go through the house to where Rich is intently staring at something not family friendly on the computer screen, and I say, "What's wrong with the dog?" thinking that, if he isn't paying any mind to it, it can't be all that big a deal, right?

"I'm just tired of untangling him all the time--he's probably tangled up," and promptly goes back to--um, yeah, something.

Lazy ass, I think as I march out the back door and begin the process, thinking also, Yet one more on the "Annoy Jason" bandwagon...

So, once around the maple sapling, under the leash, back around the old bird-feeders pot counterclockwise, back under the leash, and once around the deck post, and Hawthorne is a free puppy (okay, okay, DOG!). I leave him out there for a few minutes untangled as I go back in and ask, "Did you drain the ocean today?"

No response. Men and their -- um, yeah.

I go into the Basement of Little Light and Creepy Cobwebs and start the Pump of Joy to drain the Basmantic Ocean that has formed from Pipenagra Falls. In about 20 minutes, the basement is once more relatively dry, so I march back upstairs and plop my ass on the couch in front of the TV--anything to avoid talking to people who have annoyed me so much this day.

And there's a disturbing silence. No, the TV was on, volume up, and I could hear Rich typing on the keyboard in the dining room, but there was something... something missing from the sounds of the day...

"Where's Hawthorne?" I suddenly query.
"Hmm?"
"The dog? Is he out there with you?"
"No... Isn't he still out on his leash?"
"Oh, yeah..." So I go back through the house out the back door to see.... an empty leash, with part of a broken choker collar on the end of it.

Commence hours and hours of yelling "HAWTHORNE!!!!"

BTW, "hours" is not an overstatement.

Throughout, Rich is saying things like "He always comes back," or "He'll be back, he'll be fine," and other such niceties.

I leave messages on the surrounding townships and boroughs non-emergency answering machines, call animal shelters, ask the neighbors and enduring questions such as: "When did you see him last?"; "Where do you think he could have gone?"; and this has to be the most torturous, "He's run away? A dog?"

Dumbasses, but nice dumbasses, and if I have to be surrounded by dumbasses, I have nice enough ones that usually don't bother me, so...

The sun goes down, Rich keeps saying silly things, and no Hawthorne. I entertained gruesome thoughts of highway accidents, deep wells and caves in the country side, bear snacks, rabid raccoons...

I went to bed, but I left the back door open so he could come sailing through when he got home. Every single noise I heard last night kept waking me up (I'm sure Rich was ready to strangle me as I would always get up and go out on the deck to whisper/yell, "Hawthorne!!")

So my alarm goes off at 6:26 a.m., and of course I was already awake. Visions of Hawthorne's untimely demise have haunted me all night, as well as those "bumps" that houses which contain an ocean in their basement tend to do, so I'm running on about 3 hours of sleep over what is normally a seven-hour-time allotment.

I get my shower, yell his name a few more times, and plop my ass in front of Good Morning, America while Rich starts in: "He'll be back, although this is a long time..." and "We're not leaving that door open all day--we have valuables!" (i.e., Star Wars crap and comic books of uncertain [and dare I say most likely little] value...)

So I fake going to work so Rich doesn't get on my ass over calling off to search for my puppy.

I pull into the gas station and turn around and head back home after I know he's left. I promptly call in with the "car won't start" excuse, thinking that it isn't unreasonable to have the dog located by 10 in the morning, and then I can get my ass to work and only lose two hours of pay (which, incidentally, is how it worked out...)

It seems that after I left thousands of messages all over the valley, one of the cops in my borough put out an alert (I'm guessing this was the most exciting thing to happen where we live in quite some time) and it turns out that, when I got back to my house, there was a cop. I'm like, Uh-oh, this can't be good.

"You Jason Hughes?"
"Um, yeah..."
"You lost a dog?"
"Oh! You found him! Is he okay? Is he hurt? Where is he? Wh--"
"Can you describe him?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, he's [cute, fun, white-and-tan, friendly, playful, ramble ramble, ramble]"
"You feed him?"
Oh god, not again!!! "Yes, three full bowls a day. He's just got a great meta--"
"He's kind of skinny for a pup his size."
"He eats, trust me. You want to see his big bowl he eats out of? His chew toys? His multi-flavored treats? Do a scan of the yard! There's shit everywhere! Dogs don't shit unless they're eating!!!"
"No need to get testy, Mr. Hughes."
"Sorry, sorry sir, but I'm tired, I am worried about Hawthorne--"

Turns out he crossed the turnpike, over the Lehigh River, across Rt. 248 (a busy highway), over the railroad tracks, and into Bowmanstown proper... less than 2 miles away. So I get him home, check him for injuries, endure his kisses, and promptly give him a bowl of treats instead of a bowl of food...

And people are still annoying me today....

This time on less sleep....

But at least my puppy is okay...

The only fun thing now is waiting to get home. Since Rich doesn't know I came in late to rescue said puppy, he's going to be a little surprised when he gets home (he always gets home at least 20 minutes before I do) and sees Hawthorne sleeping on the couch...

And then I'll hafta tell the story again... Annoying me further, I suppose... I think I'm just going to e-mail him this post...

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Coming soon: Topics on Evolution, and the Atheists Basis for Morality...

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Here is a pic of Hawthorne, back home safe and sound where he belongs:

Isn't he freakin' adorable (when he's not running away)?

Yes, Ergo, you're right--he is too smart for his own good, as well as too strong! I blame his daddy, who is a pure bred pitbull... Hawthorne's broken more collars, leashes, and chains than any dog I've ever known! He also knows how to get into the attic (LOL! This said attack before! Stupid blogger spell check!) when no one is home, he's escaped through a window screen once, and he opens doors with latch handles without so much as a "please." That's why we always keep two collars on him now--one we use to attach him to the current chain which is what he broke yesterday), and one which has his license and information (which is why I assumed a two-hour delay going into work would give me plenty of time to locate him)...

But I wouldn't trade him for another dog in the world! He's so great with my nieces and nephews, playful, friendly, as well as a great guard dog (that is, when he's around to guard... :D)

The joys of pet ownership, I suppose...