Last week was rough on this little brown dog.
The remaining two started dismantling the kitchen and shoving things into the dining room - including the fridge. They scrubbed and cleaned that fridge within an inch of its life. And all the really good smells that waft out when the fridge door swings open began to fade.
Later that day, I met a rat terrier at our park. After playing together for a good five minutes, the little creep freaked out and mauled my head. Seriously! I have four toothmarks in my velvety ear to prove it. I bled. I cried. I tolerated first aid.
My favorite dog park was closed so hunters could shoot arrows at the deer. What deer would live in a dog park, you ask? Beats me. But it did seem prudent for furry folks like me to steer clear until all the archers stood down.
I should have told that rat terrier the dog park was open for business as usual...
When Monday morning rolled around, we ate breakfast like normal and got in to the car to go drop off Boy#2 at school...or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when I was dropped off at the pound.
|dramatization...this is not Carmella|
Well, I thought it was the pound because my loved ones handed my leash to a complete stranger and I was led away to a space full of barking dogs.
It was very different than the pound in Kentucky. All the dogs were pretty psyched to be there. They said their owners would be back for them at the end of the day. Poor suckers.
I busied myself searching for a new owner. I wagged my tail at everyone I met. I leaned on them and licked their hands. Basically, I tried to look as sweet as possible hoping someone would adopt me ASAP.
OK, I also played all day with the other dogs. Why not? They were in good moods and it was catching. And unlike my previous pound, we were all together and allowed to romp and race in a huge room and outdoor yard. No kennels reeking of fear and depression.
But at the end of the day, the other dogs began to disappear. "My owner is here!" they would bark happily as a leash was clipped on. Poor idiots. They just don't understand. One by one, they were led out. I knew I would be next.
They snapped on my leash. "Come on, Carmella, let's go." Oh... crap.
We went through a door into a hall and... there was my family! My Susan and Boy#2, smiling. I threw myself at them with utter joy. They forgave me about that baby squirrel! They changed their minds! They want me back!
"How was doggy daycare? Did you have a good day?" Boy#2 asked.
We went home. They didn't even get that mad when I peed in Boy#2's bed.
Home, sweet home!