Almost fleeting Bad Dog
"Carol, you need to come home right away."
"What's the matter, Old Man?" The quiver in his voice is spine-tingling. Old Man never quivers.
"Just come home. You need to be here."
I tell Aunt Mildred that something is wrong at home, I don't know what.
"You all can stay here tonight. I have 2 extra bedrooms."
"Thank you, Aunt Mildred," I answer, "But, I don't know what the problem is. We may have to take you up on that offer. I'll call you later tonight."
I get to my car as quickly as possible, fearing the worst. As I drive up in the driveway, I see Old Man struggling with a small tarp. Now, I am thoroughly confused. I park the car so that my headlights shine on his work.
"What's up?" I ask, "Why do you need the tarp right away?"
Old Man looks really, really old. He looks up and tells me he's covering the windshield of his pickup to prevent ice from accumulating. You see, Old Man's job requires him to be there at 4:30 a.m. and in the unusual freeze of the deep south, his windshield would be very icey at that hour. But, I'm still perplexed. This is not an emergency situation.
"Why did you call me from Aunt Mildred's. Are you wanting supper that badly?"
"What? Oh, no. Just walk into the house and you'll see why I called. Our bedclothes will need to be washed before we can go to bed tonight. I hope the mattress hasn't been damaged."
"What happened?"
"Just go look. But, leave the dog alone."
Dagnabit! I know now what I'll find. I must have forgotten to latch the door to her crate before I left this morning! At least Old Man regained his composure in the short time it took me to drive home.
I tip-toe up the steps and quietly open the door, it seems in the hopes that if I move slowly, the damage won't be as bad as I am imagining. The mess before me is indescribable. But, I'll try.
The door opens up to our den. We normally have covers over the furniture because we have the already mentioned dog and a cat. Bad Dog was nowhere in sight, but the room clearly screamed of her MO. None of the furniture (a couch and 2 chairs) was covered, cushions lay strewn across the floor. At least I don't see any feathers flying. The coffee table is pushed at a wierd angle, an end table is toppled and a lamp lies across the naked couch. It looks as though Bad Dog decided the den was a theme park and she was the ride. Old Man enters the room and says, "This is the good room."
Oh, my! What next? I walk into the kitchen. Everything seems fine there. At least she didn't make her way into the refrigerator or any of the cabinets. The top of the dining table looks as I left it this morning. Old Man is following me through the house. Perhaps he thinks I'll faint at the sight of all the damage. "Keep going," he urges.
Because of the cold weather and our attempt at being 'green', the 2 extra bedrooms have their doors closed so we don't have to heat them. I know Bad Dog hasn't been in either of them. That leaves mine and Old Man's room. I am filled with dread. I peak around the corner of the door and am immediately smacked in the face with a putrid, petrifying odor. The blankets on the bed are shoved to one side, and somehow, Bad Dog has managed to pull half the bottom sheet from the corners it had been hugging. Bad Dog had an orgy of back scratching, scratching so hard, she rubbed her skin raw and left blood on the mattress cover. Old Man's pillow had blood on it. I check mine quickly and find that is miraculously clean. This explains some of the odor. But, certainly not as awful as it smells.
I step a little further into the room, Old Man close on my heels. The dresser tops seem ok. At least she didn't jump up there. Upon closer inspection of the bed, I find that Bad Dog has ripped one of the blankets. Then I find the source of the odor. On the far side of the bed, unseen from the door, Bad Dog has left a pile as a present that Old Man decided was left for me.
I push past Old Man to get to the kitchen, the room that has always brought solace to me. I'm sure it has something to do with the food kept there. I stand in the middle of the room, fists and teeth clenched. "Shoot the dog!" I scream. The dog, by the way, has hunkered down in her crate, trying to become invisible.
"You don't mean that!"
"Yes, I do! I'm not putting up with this! It's 7:30 and I have two rooms to clean before I go to bed. I'm not doing this again!"
Old Man is by my side, pushing his pistol into my hand. "You do it if you want it done so badly."
"Bad Dog! Come with me!" I start toward the back door. Bad Dog doesn't obey. Old Man stares in disbelief and wants to talk me out of my intentions.
"Are you going to dig a hole to bury her?" He thinks he'll appeal to my lazy streak. He has no idea how angry and put out I am with this dog, who has been nothing but trouble since the day she arrived.
"No, it won't get above freezing tonight," I reply calmly, "You can do it in the morning."
Bad Dog is still not following me. I march into her room and to her crate, "Out, Bad Dog! Come with me now."
I have to bend down to glare into the crate. Looking back at me are the biggest, saddest looking eyes I've ever seen. My mother would have called them 'sad calf eyes'. Then I notice that she's shaking, she knows she's in trouble. Aw, man! Why does she do that every time? Bad But Misunderstood Dog looks up at me with those brown eyes and struggles to her feet, tail tucked, but the tip warily wagging. As she leaves her crate I see her raw back where she tried to relieve an unrelievable itch.
Awwwwwww.
"Old Man, if you'll bath Sweet Dog, I'll get the laundry going and clean up the mess in the bedroom. Then we can both tackle the den."
"What's the matter, Old Man?" The quiver in his voice is spine-tingling. Old Man never quivers.
"Just come home. You need to be here."
I tell Aunt Mildred that something is wrong at home, I don't know what.
"You all can stay here tonight. I have 2 extra bedrooms."
"Thank you, Aunt Mildred," I answer, "But, I don't know what the problem is. We may have to take you up on that offer. I'll call you later tonight."
I get to my car as quickly as possible, fearing the worst. As I drive up in the driveway, I see Old Man struggling with a small tarp. Now, I am thoroughly confused. I park the car so that my headlights shine on his work.
"What's up?" I ask, "Why do you need the tarp right away?"
Old Man looks really, really old. He looks up and tells me he's covering the windshield of his pickup to prevent ice from accumulating. You see, Old Man's job requires him to be there at 4:30 a.m. and in the unusual freeze of the deep south, his windshield would be very icey at that hour. But, I'm still perplexed. This is not an emergency situation.
"Why did you call me from Aunt Mildred's. Are you wanting supper that badly?"
"What? Oh, no. Just walk into the house and you'll see why I called. Our bedclothes will need to be washed before we can go to bed tonight. I hope the mattress hasn't been damaged."
"What happened?"
"Just go look. But, leave the dog alone."
Dagnabit! I know now what I'll find. I must have forgotten to latch the door to her crate before I left this morning! At least Old Man regained his composure in the short time it took me to drive home.
I tip-toe up the steps and quietly open the door, it seems in the hopes that if I move slowly, the damage won't be as bad as I am imagining. The mess before me is indescribable. But, I'll try.
The door opens up to our den. We normally have covers over the furniture because we have the already mentioned dog and a cat. Bad Dog was nowhere in sight, but the room clearly screamed of her MO. None of the furniture (a couch and 2 chairs) was covered, cushions lay strewn across the floor. At least I don't see any feathers flying. The coffee table is pushed at a wierd angle, an end table is toppled and a lamp lies across the naked couch. It looks as though Bad Dog decided the den was a theme park and she was the ride. Old Man enters the room and says, "This is the good room."
Oh, my! What next? I walk into the kitchen. Everything seems fine there. At least she didn't make her way into the refrigerator or any of the cabinets. The top of the dining table looks as I left it this morning. Old Man is following me through the house. Perhaps he thinks I'll faint at the sight of all the damage. "Keep going," he urges.
Because of the cold weather and our attempt at being 'green', the 2 extra bedrooms have their doors closed so we don't have to heat them. I know Bad Dog hasn't been in either of them. That leaves mine and Old Man's room. I am filled with dread. I peak around the corner of the door and am immediately smacked in the face with a putrid, petrifying odor. The blankets on the bed are shoved to one side, and somehow, Bad Dog has managed to pull half the bottom sheet from the corners it had been hugging. Bad Dog had an orgy of back scratching, scratching so hard, she rubbed her skin raw and left blood on the mattress cover. Old Man's pillow had blood on it. I check mine quickly and find that is miraculously clean. This explains some of the odor. But, certainly not as awful as it smells.
I step a little further into the room, Old Man close on my heels. The dresser tops seem ok. At least she didn't jump up there. Upon closer inspection of the bed, I find that Bad Dog has ripped one of the blankets. Then I find the source of the odor. On the far side of the bed, unseen from the door, Bad Dog has left a pile as a present that Old Man decided was left for me.
I push past Old Man to get to the kitchen, the room that has always brought solace to me. I'm sure it has something to do with the food kept there. I stand in the middle of the room, fists and teeth clenched. "Shoot the dog!" I scream. The dog, by the way, has hunkered down in her crate, trying to become invisible.
"You don't mean that!"
"Yes, I do! I'm not putting up with this! It's 7:30 and I have two rooms to clean before I go to bed. I'm not doing this again!"
Old Man is by my side, pushing his pistol into my hand. "You do it if you want it done so badly."
"Bad Dog! Come with me!" I start toward the back door. Bad Dog doesn't obey. Old Man stares in disbelief and wants to talk me out of my intentions.
"Are you going to dig a hole to bury her?" He thinks he'll appeal to my lazy streak. He has no idea how angry and put out I am with this dog, who has been nothing but trouble since the day she arrived.
"No, it won't get above freezing tonight," I reply calmly, "You can do it in the morning."
Bad Dog is still not following me. I march into her room and to her crate, "Out, Bad Dog! Come with me now."
I have to bend down to glare into the crate. Looking back at me are the biggest, saddest looking eyes I've ever seen. My mother would have called them 'sad calf eyes'. Then I notice that she's shaking, she knows she's in trouble. Aw, man! Why does she do that every time? Bad But Misunderstood Dog looks up at me with those brown eyes and struggles to her feet, tail tucked, but the tip warily wagging. As she leaves her crate I see her raw back where she tried to relieve an unrelievable itch.
Awwwwwww.
"Old Man, if you'll bath Sweet Dog, I'll get the laundry going and clean up the mess in the bedroom. Then we can both tackle the den."
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