Bark bark!

Hiya, folks!  Becki here, with a blog to tide you over until Rob and I read again.

I love animals.  Not enough to not eat the tasty ones, but still, a lot.  I grew up on a farm full of animals, and have always had something of a soft spot for even the most pathetic and unlovable creatures.

(Insert your own "this explains your taste in men" joke here, Rob.)

I spent the night last night at the home of a dear friend with two other dear friends.  (Will the novelty of the sleepover ever wear off, girls?  Will it?  It hasn't for me.)  We drank wine and talked about boys and kids and friends and family and everything else, and it was lovely. 

Then, when leaving, I almost backed into a ravine.  Seriously, inches away from doom.  But that's not the point of this blog.

After teaching for a few hours (on even fewer hours of sleep...on a floor...ow), I returned to my home with nothing on my mind but the anticipation and delight of an impending nap.  I parked the car, headed up the sidewalk, and was certainly surprised to find a rather large and fluffy dog sitting at the top of the steps to my house.  "How unusual," I thought to myself, "as I do not own a dog." 

I approached the stairs, expecting to see that the dog was tied to my lamppost by one of my Crazy Upstairs Neighbors or perhaps had an owner nearby that I hadn't noticed.  Nope.  Instead, the dog started barking like I was a vicious home intruder and would not let me up the stairs.

"Now, this is a quandary!" I thought.  "This is my house.  Maybe I should be barking?"

In the interest of my love of script-style notation, here's how that would have gone.

ME:  BARK BARK.
DOG:  BARK BARK.
ME:  BARK BARK.
DOG:  BARK BARK.

You get the picture, yes?  Yes.

Barky (let's call him Barky, guys) appeared to be well fed, and had tags (although he certainly wouldn't let me near enough to see them).  He was limpy, so I thought maybe he was injured.  I'm no hero, so I called Animal Control.  They assured me that someone would be there to help me out within the next 4 hours.  (Nothing like specificity, Animal Control!  High fiiiiive!)

I finally got past him into my apartment, where I got a small dish of water and a small dish of cat food.  He was NOT pumped to see me when I returned, but he ate and drank like he'd just dog-sledded a Caprice Classic through the Gobi desert.  "Poor little abandoned guy!"  I thought to myself.  "All alone in this crazy world...I get you, man.  I get you."

I sat there with him, making sure he didn't run away before Animal Control arrived.  We waited quietly together (the barking abated after the cat food/water was offered, but he was still not interested in me checking his tags) for almost two hours.

And when Animal Control arrived he barked.  A lot.  Then he walked to a house two yards over, climbed up the stairs, and was greeted with open arms...by his owner.  Apparently the back door had been left open, and Barky (whose name is not Barky) scooted out for an adventure in my yard. 

I am sure that the folks at Animal Rescue think I am really, really dumb.  But this dog was barking A LOT.  If your dog was missing, and you heard constant (and eerily familiar) barking two yards away, would you not investigate?  Would you not?  HMMMM?  Anyway, somehow I ended up looking like the opposite of Nancy Drew.  I'm glad this story ended happily, though, aren't you?  I liked lil' Barky.

This is not the first time a lost animal has found me.  The most beautiful little cocker spaniel without tags hopped into my car once while I was checking the mail.  I gave her to a friend's grandma, who loved the heck out of her.  A handsome yellow cat scratched on my door in the middle of winter.  He was given to my friend and her mom, where he lived in the lap of luxury for years. 

I am a magnet for bewildered animals and emotionally unavailable men.