the number you are trying to reach…
Do you ever wish you could just temporarily disconnect yourself? I’m not referring to anything permanent or life altering…just momentary. Like a phone line.
“The number you are trying to reach has been temporarily disconnected.”
I used to get that message all the time when calling someone. It was never more than a short term inconvenience. Usually an unpaid phone bill. But what if it was just a state of limbo you could sit in…temporarily. I would totally take advantage of that from time to time. Because, let’s face it, life gets pretty difficult sometimes and no matter how prepared you think you are, you aren’t.
It’s no secret that I’m having a bad week—the kind of week that will turn the biggest non-believer to religion. “Say twenty Hail Mary’s and it will all go away.” I don’t even know what that means and I’m willing to give it a try.
Not that I’m knocking religion mind you, I’m just trying to stress the level of “bad” my week has been.
On a high note, my puppy is doing very well. We had our regularly scheduled vet visit today and Indy is just a fraction of a pound away from thirty pounds. He had his nails and his ears groomed and he got his last round of shots. We managed to make it through the entire morning and afternoon without a single accident! I was so proud of my little boy.
Then we had a pretty hard rainstorm this evening and I think he peed on my floor six times. I shouldn’t be surprised; I always have to pee in a rainstorm. All that falling water triggers the urge I suppose. Of course, I made it to the bathroom without too much trouble.
I will be very pleased when Indy is all grown up. Not that I don’t love having a sweet little puppy at home, but I do look forward to the dignified protector that he will grow to be. Especially on those long spooky evenings when I’m home alone.
It was sometime after eleven when I heard what I was sure were footsteps creeping across the floor in the front of my house while I was watching television in the back. I did a quick sweep of the room to determine that all of my dogs were accounted for, and asleep, and I was the only one home.
I practically dove over the couch to hide on the floor behind it, cell phone in hand, and did what any self respecting woman with nothing but a dog shedder and a TV remote as weapons would do…I called 911.
The first thing he asked me was if I had a weapon to which I asked if my Furminator counted. He didn’t think so.
I stayed on the line with the operator, thankful that I had already peed not too long before, so I probably wouldn’t wet myself, and I waited for the cavalry to arrive. It wasn’t more than a few minutes later when I saw the beams of light washing across the back fence as the police officers (armed with rifles) moved around the back of my house, and two others came around the front. My throat had closed up from fear, and because it had completely dried up as every drop of fluid in my body ran straight to my bladder, ready for a full on assault.
I let them in, stammering out my explanation of the sounds I was sure I’d heard while my dogs slept, completely oblivious, on the floor. Just then, Bart the cat bounded from around a corner, large feet padding against the floor with an all too familiar sound.
If I hadn’t been too terrified to blush, I probably would have. Instead, I thanked the nice policemen for coming so quickly to protect me from the big bad (declawed) kitty in my dining room, and I quickly got myself a nice cold glass of ice water.
Yes, having a full grown Mastiff around will be a very nice thing.
But for now, I’ll have to settle for the oversized pup curled up on the floor by my feet taking his hundredth or so nap of the day.
Of course, I still have one ‘fraidy cat pit/boxer, and a geriatric Labrador for protection. Not to mention one very scary ninja kitty! Guess I’ll be safe tonight after all.
Until the next time…I’ll be barricading myself in my bedroom for the night!