Of one eyed Pomeranians and playing practical jokes

On Sunday night my Dear Husband and I left the house at 5:00 to get a gallon of milk. We were out for over five hours.

This is what happened. On the way to the store, (Stop and Shop, if you must know), both babies fell asleep. Since it is best to let sleeping babies lie (since they are, apparently, unable to tell the truth) I went into the Stupor-Market and the DH stayed behind. A quick shop later (yes, I am incapable of going into a store and coming out with just the one thing I went in for. In this case I got the milk, a seam ripper, a tube of blue Maybelline Great Lash (to go with my 80’s hair-do) and a box of organic Fig Newmans- for the babies.) My poor DH was bored to tears in the car – so he said, because he didn’t have a book, a magazine, or anything. So, to make him feel loved, I suggested we take a drive over to one of his friend’s houses to rearrange the light-up deer on his front lawn.

We crept past the house, and the DH leapt out. He sneaked across the grass, grabbed the deer, unplugged it and was swallowed in the darkness. I kept the getaway vehicle running. I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but he told me that he moved the deer, which also bends its head, to graze, I suppose, from the lawn next to the driveway to the pool deck. There is an outlet there, so he was able to keep the “grazing” effect. No one came bursting out of the house, I guess they didn’t notice the glowing deer on the deck right away, and we made a clean getaway.

High on the success of our escapade, we went over to another friends’ house, to rearrange their lawn ornaments. However, the house we had selected, mostly for its proximity to the first house, was absolutely dark! No lights, no deer, no snowmen with light bulbs inside, or glow in the dark candy canes or anything. I know these people live in a somewhat snooty part of town, but in my part of the planet even snooty types ornament their homes for the holidays. We were most disappointed and needed another victim; the babies were still asleep.

Luckily, I do know someone who lives in the same town as the intended victims. I had been to her house once, for a playgroup and I remembered the name of her street and I always have a street atlas in the car. Off we went, plotting our mischief and zooming through the dark streets, hunched over my handy-dandy atlas.

Then, suddenly, in the middle of the dark country road, I spied a little orange fuzzy critter. At first I wasn’t sure if it was a long legged rabbit, or a twisted looking cat, but I stopped and the DH got out. He picked it up, and we were amazed to see it was a very small dog. It was about five pounds and looked as if there was something wrong with one of its eyes; it was bulgy and weepy. (The eye, not the dog – the dog didn’t make a squeak during this whole ordeal.) As the DH stood next to the open car door, and we debated whether we should start knocking on doors, a van came screeching past, almost knocking us off the road. That decided us; we would continue on to the friend’s house, possibly rearrange her holiday decorations and then innocently ask her for some dog food. She has a Corgi.

Now with a puffy little old lady lap dog added to the mix, we continued on our way, now seeking canine nourishment as well as harmless amusement. We arrived at her place, and since the DH has been petting this poor beast all the while, we discovered he had a big tick on his neck, a trembling back paw and the eye that bulged out was most likely just supposed to be like that – he showed no signs of being in pain. We pull into her driveway, and I went to the door, walking past a front lawn disappointingly devoid of ANYTHING. I knock-knocked, and her puzzled looking husband opened the door.

Me: Hi! Remember me from the playgroup? My husband and I came over to rearrange your Christmas lawn decorations, but since you don’t have any, may we borrow some dog food?

Her DH: Uh, sure! Want to come in? How about some wine?

I went in and saw I was clearly interrupting their dinner. (Later she reassured me they were in a post-dinner-slump, and just been asking each other – Well, what do you want to do? She said I actually provided her with some amusement, which had been my original goal.) But they graciously listened to my mad babbling and came outside to see what kind of dog we had rescued/stolen. “Oh! It’s a Pomeranian!” she exclaimed. “Wow, he’s cute. I bet he was expensive.” Then one of my boys woke up and started yelling. The DH had been pulling on the tick all the while, and the baby’s yell made him jump and he dropped it. (I still have not managed to find it. I hope it’s not still in car, getting hungrier and hungrier, just looking for a warm body to suck dry…..ewwww) So, we all decided to go back inside, and call the Dog Warden. Unfortunately, since it was 7:30 at this point, the office was closed, so I called the local police station, and spoke to a decent chappie, who called the dog warden at home. At first he made it sound as if we would be stuck with this fluffy beast until morning, but I implied the dog was injured, and he said he would see what he could do. Since my friend’s husband (who shall be referred to as DH #2 for the remainder of this posting for the sake of brevity/simplicity) since DH#2 is in the medical profession and had been an EMT, I suggested he look at the eye to see what was amiss. He, quite professionally and rather cleverly, I thought, pointed out that one of the eyes was missing and that a cataract covered the other eye, so the dog was most likely blind. (I actually had not fibbed to the PO-lice; the dog really was injured! Whew! I just paid for a speeding ticket – I don’t want to add any more padding to my file down at the station.) We tried to get Mr. One–Eyed Pomeranian-with-a-Limp to drink some water, but he just wanted to hobble around the garage, sniffing the air. So, we left him in there and us girls sat in the living room, both of my boys were up at this point, waiting for the Dog Warden to call back. I nursed my babies, who then were happy to play with the little girl of the house, as DH #2 gave my DH (#1) a tour of the house and told him all about the new plumbing. They drank beer.

The Dog Catcher did eventually call back, told us she had picked this dog up before – yep – he has a record – and he apparently is very old. (So the limp is arthritis. Poor thing.) If we could keep him safe for the night, she would come by at 7:00 am and collect him, then try and find the owner. My friend said she could keep the beast in the garage overnight, much to my relief. (I don’t have a dog bed, or anything, and each of my cats outweighs this little doggie, one twice and the other about four times. I am sure they would have been delighted if I had brought home a BLIND dog for them to brutalize, but I am not that mean. They really would have massacred him; I mean, one of my cats actually chased deer off my lawn (real, live deer, not the white light bulb covered kind) and the other cat has been known to chase the neighborhood dogs, one of whom is a German Shepard, three are boxers and one is a Shizu-Imu, who only weighs about 25 pounds, but moves like lightning….). My friend was able to get us out of her house by 8:30.

As we drove home, I noticed a family out for a walk, with flashlights and hastily pulled together outfits. Since they were shining their lights into piles of leaves, and since I can add two and two, and come up with a hunch, I pulled over.

Me: Hi! Are you looking for an elderly one eyed Pomeranian with a limp?
Lady wearing slippers and a cardigan: Yes! OMIGOD! Yes!
Me: Haven’t seen him.

KIDDING!!!! I walked the nice lady back to my friend’s house, and DH#1 followed behind in the car. (With two car seats, we generally don’t fit a third party in the vehicle too easily.) On the walk she talked a mile a minute about the dog (Bennie) and how nice he is and how he’s totally blind (good call, Dr. DH#2!) and how he’s 13 years old and so sweet and her name is Mimi (all names have been changed to protect the guilty) and how much she loves Bennie (actually that is the dog’s real name, but since he’s a Pomeranian I don’t think he’ll get pissed off at reading his name in my blog...wait a minute, he can’t read anyway! He’s blind!)

So, we get back to my friend’s house, and she opens the door, obviously puzzled as to why I might be darkening her doorstep twice in one night.

Me: Hi again! This is Mimi! Bennie’s mother! You know, the dog?
Friend: Wow! Honey, go get the dog, wow!

I stayed to witness the handover, Bennie seemed quite relieved to be in his mother’s arms again, and we all chatted pleasantly on the door step for a few. Then I had to say good night. By 9:45 my little family and I were on our way home from an unexpected adventure and totally overdue for baths, supper and bed.

As we pulled into our driveway, my DH looks at me and says, “That was kind of fun. Your friends are very nice.” All I could think was, “Where the hell is that tick?”