Man! You like me! You really like me! *clutches Oscar*
So here's the deal. I want to tell you. I do. I tell you everything eventually. But a lot of people already know what's going on. I feel like it would put some bad juju out there if I were to write it down, and then fail. That happened several times when I posted things about The Flake, or the Big Girl Job. So on and so forth. So, here's my promise: today, I will tell you a story and once I get back from my trip this weekend, I will blog it out. Deal?
Picture it: Mockingbird Lane, well past 1 in the morning on a Monday/technically Tuesday. As I'm driving, off to the right of my car, half-standing on the bridge is a dog. It's not a stray dog, with that mangy look. This is someone's pet. I can see a very large collar. I slow the car, and pull over to the other side of the bridge. I turn my hazards on, and get out. The dog is a pointer. It's an English Pointer, who looks remarkably similar to Deeohgee. The dog is very involved with whatever it is chewing. I walk towards the dog, and the dog grabs its treat, and takes off around the car. I open the passenger door. The dog does one more lap around my car, grabs her "treat" and hops in. All right, cool. Until I get in the car, and the smell hits me. The treat she is so enamored of? A decroded squirrel, long dead and extremely flattened. I wrest the squirrel jerky away from her. I toss it back out into the street, and get in the car. Her huge green collar has a brass plate (obvs, she is a girl dog) that has a line that says,"REWARD IF FOUND" in a large font, and a phone number. Temporarily forgetting that it is around 1:20 in the morning, and most people aren't awake, or very coherent past midnight, I whip out my cell phone and call. The person who answers doesn't sound as though I've woken him. I tell him that I've found his pointer on Mockingbird, and ask if he lives close, so I can come and drop her off. He excitedly tells me that he lives only a block away from where I am. I drive over, he meets me at the curb with a leash. He thanks me profusely. The landscapers had let both his pointers out earlier that day. The boy had come back rather quickly. The girl had been gone all day, and he seemed pretty grateful that she was home now. He asked what I was doing out so late. Not minding the obvious presumptuousness of his question, I explained that I work nights, and was on the way home from work. Via the Whiskey Bar, but I left that detail out. I tell him that I used to have an English Pointer who looked a little like her. Same lemon markings. He asks if I hunt. I laugh. No, I explain that Deeohgee was purchased by an Ex (ostensibly for hunting purposes, although they never went hunting together once), and raised as a big, fat, house dog by me. He thanks me again, and I drive off into the night, feeling pretty awesome. I never cared about getting moneys. It was awesome, because she reminded me of my boy, and it made me feel all gooey inside to get her home.
Until the endorphins wear off, and I inhale deeply. My car smelled like decroded squirrel. There was a furious vacuuming and Febrezing the next day.