We’re watching the Pro Bowl, and trying to stay awake, when I commented to my wife: “I can’t believe how good the dogs have been all this time.” I mean, we had cheese and crackers, and chips and dip, and other munchies out on the coffee table and I hadn’t had to shoo the dogs away once.
In fact, they were being so good, it was almost like… they weren’t here.
I look in the yard - no dogs. In the garage (in case they ventured out there and the door shut behind them), no dogs. On my bed - no dog. Two cats, yes, but no dog.
I asked my son: “Have you seen the dogs?”
“Well, maybe, um, they might have gotten out when my brother opened the door, kinda.” It’s always somebody else, isn’t it?
So I figure, well shit, I better go find them. I grab their leashes and head out the door. I’m met in the yard by the Animal Cops. Well, one of them, at least.
“Do you have two black dogs?”
“Why, yes, I do, and I just realized they were missing, but they must have been gone for almost two hours since it’s after halftime…” Yeah, I’m a real Responsible Parent.
Lucky for us, he had scanned them and one of them has a microchip (I can’t remember which one, see? Responsible) so he brought them home instead of driving them over to the pound. They don’t have their collars on since they keep slipping them off and chewing them to pieces. The pound wouldn’t have been fun, it was Sunday after all, and they aren’t open for me to retrieve them.
I had to produce my license so he could write a ticket, and the whole time the kids have a running commentary:
“Well, if they get out again then we could get something else!”
“Like a bird!”
“Or a fish. No, we have a fish.”
“A dolphin. No, too big…”
etc.
Poor Animal Cop was trying really hard to keep a straight face. In the end, he just gave me a warning. I’m hoping the dogs were traumatized enough by being caged in the back of his truck to not try and run away again.
But I know better.
