Life wasn't crazy enough with a cat,
and four chickens.
Apparently, the universe thought we needed a little more action. When a scruffy old dog wandered onto our property last month, I pulled a Trudy, and fell in love with him. He was missing half of the fur on his back and I was afraid I might get scabies if I touched him, but then he looked at me with his crazy, El Chupacabra stare :
Before I knew what I was doing, I was coaxing him into the backseat of our car to take him to the vet. Now, we are official dog owners and I am still wondering what in the hell just happened? I am not what you would call a dog person.
Or at least I didn't used to be. Now, I'm not sure what I am.
Here is a scene from an average day:
Forget chickens are out of pen,
let dog out into backyard.
Begin dustbusting after formerly-litterbox trained rabbit.
Hear strange noise in distance over droning handheld vacuum.
Recognize faint sound of squawking.
Drop dustbuster. Spill rabbit poo all over newly-vaccumed floor.
Rush to yard.
Chase after wild dog who is chasing after terrified chickens.
Bring dog inside.
Look for chicken.
Look for chicken some more.
Search high and low for chicken.
Wonder if chicken is dead.
Hear muffled clucking noise coming from living room.
Look inside of child's doll house.
Find one frightened chicken.
Return bird to yard.
Its like those episodes of Dukes of Hazard where Bo and Luke are chasing bad guys and then Rosco goes after Bo and Luke, and crashes his police car into the lake. I'm like Boss Hogg , standing in the middle of all of this, hollering and waving my stubby little arms in the air. What we really need is a banjo soundtrack to pull it all together.