Yesterday I got a call from Sweet Baboo at about 4:15 in the afternoon.
"Do you know where Jake is?"
Jake? You mean a$$hole dog? Because if he's calling me in the middle of the afternoon, from home, asking where he is, then today he's a$$hole dog and the dollar signs, folks, are there for a reason, not just to clean up my language.
No. I don't know where Jake is.
But I do no one thing: There was a reason I didn't want any more kids. And it had a lot to do with phone calls in the middle of the day.
As Sweet Baboo was standing there talking to me, he saw Jake come back over the wall, from the open space, where he'd escaped to. Mind you, when I say open space, we're talking about the boundary between Cibola Wilderness and the city of Albuquerque. At this point, I don't think Asshole dog will be around much longer, because there are hungry spring bears waking up, hungry enough to probably catch even a fast Blue-heeler, shepherd mix.
But, so. I take my status as a parent very seriously. And, we're out of money until the next pay day, I guess...so I had to tie him up. I hate that. My neighbors hate it, too, because he's barking continuously. He has a long tie, access to water and shelter and shade, but of course he's Jake the A$$hole dog, so he wants to be able to roam, even though he has 1/3 of an acre with cool shade, warm dry sunny spots, and a large running water source.
It also occurs to me, right now, that there was another reason I didn't want kids. It had something do with the sucking sound I heard every payday. Kids, though, grow up and become people you like to talk to. What does a dog become? A larger, noisier expensive child who never grows up?
Chloe, for the record, is relatively well-behaved, stays in the yard, entertains herself, and doesn't cause trouble. She will run with me. Jake will not run without Chloe, and I can't run them both at the same time. She does not tear up drip lines just because she can. So. Do I untie Jake so my neighbors can get some peace and the bears can have breakfast, or do I leave him tied up so that he's safe and my neighbors hate me?
That is the Q.O.D.
We're going to have to put an underground, electric fence on our credit card. If this doesn't work, Jake is either Smokey's breakfast or he goes back to the pound, for a third time (He'd been surrendered twice when we got him.)
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