I knew it would happen some day – that HRH The Kone would attempt to toss off the shackles that have been penning him in to a life of misery, and break free of his existence centered around oppression and cruelty. After all, if nothing else, I’m known for the tight ship I run here at Chez Tasha, so who can blame the poor little man? Certainly not me.
So there we were, the Kone and I, up in WI last weekend to deal with Idiot Brother. Which is a long story in and of itself, so let me interject here with this important rule of thumb: should you notice that a major body part, say a leg, is suddenly very red and very swollen, and you’re feeling feverish/chilled, you in all likelihood have a raging infection and should hie thee to a doctor ASAP. Just sayin.’ Rather than, for example, making your mother haul herself up to WI the night before she’s supposed to go out of town, to take you to the ER, even as you’re protesting the whole way, because of course, “nothing’s wrong.” Right.
We get up there, and after making sure The Kone is being kept in the style to which he’s accustomed (bread and water, cement floor), I head off to the hospital to see Idiot Brother. Before doing so, I open a side sliding door a little for some fresh air, leaving the screen door closed. Why this sudden need for fresh air? Well, here’s another important note: if you notice that there are pantry pest moths in the house, do not, I repeat do NOT simply ignore them. Because they will multiply, and you’ll be walking around through swarms of them, which is pretty damn annoying and gross for most people. Most people who aren’t my brother, that is.
So of course I had sprayed the shit out of the place with flying bug spray, and I didn’t want Kona to expire from the fumes. Hence, leaving the side door open.
I get home a bit later, after a frustrating visit with Idiot Brother who wasn’t quite able to grasp the whole “rule of thumb concerning infections and limbs that might need sawing off,” and as I step onto the deck, I stop in horror, as my heart goes leaping out of my chest and sauntering off jauntily. Because the screen door has been pushed out, and The Kone – as I discover after I go running through the house – is gone.
Oh. My. God.
Of course, I do what any normal person would do under such circumstances: I go running through the neighborhood, yelling my fool head off: “Kone! Kone!” I stop kids who are going fishing: “Have you seen a BIG RED DOG?” I contemplate calling Melinda or Kim, because of course the smart thing to do is always to call friends who live in Ohio and Oregon, respectively. I think I hear Kona barking, so I wonder – is he tied to a pickup truck? Being held hostage in a garage? Stuck in a well while the barn is on fire??
I run back to the house, thinking I’ll call 911 and get the police and National Guard on the case, but first I decide to take one more run through the house. And so I get to the last bedroom and open the door – and there he is! The Kone!! Much happiness ensues!
I’m guessing he did go outside to chase the damn squirrels which were taunting him on the deck, tired himself out, then decided to go into the bedroom for a well-deserved nappie and the door closed behind him. My poor baby!
We then head out for a walk, and while uber-relieved and happy, I’m also not in the mood for moronic Wisconsinites and their crazed dogs, which is all we’ve met so far on our walkies. So when yet another idiot comes walking along by the channel with a snarling fat mangy Chihuahua who’s lunging at Kona, and then this fool has the nerve to tell me “You keep that dog over there and away from us!” as Kona is just walking along sniffing a flower…….well. I may or may not have snarled something along the lines of “why don’t you keep your asshole POS dog away from us, m’kay?”
In other news: I have taken up drinking. Heavily.