I'm up. It's 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday.
Apparently I am easily trainable, like a German shepherd. I do have a lot of German in me. So to speak. But one week of getting up at 7:00 and whooo! here I am. Up at 7:00 on Sunday. Nice. Relaxing.
So far I have taken out all the trash, done some laundry, put some clothes away, organized (but not paid; don't be silly) the bills, fed the pets and realized I could just stuff Francis' pill in his deer food and not spend nine hundred thousand dollars on pill pockets for him. That was a revelation.
Yes, he's eating DEER now. He grew tired of the bunny. He only wants to eat things that were cute, which makes me feel terrible. Can't he get a hankering for Donald Trump meat?
See what I did there? I went for the Donald Trump joke. That is what happens when I wake up at 7:00. My humor lacks considerably.
Anyway, Tallulah spent the greater part of yesterday catching up on her beauty rest and I was quite tempted to make her get up and wash the car or something, the way parents of teenagers do when they know their kids are hung over.
Nevertheless, I let her sleep, mostly because Edsel ate our bucket so Talu COULDN'T have washed the car. I was in the yard clipping things with my stupid hand-held 1942 hedge clippers, which make my wrists shake after about an hour and yes I do realize I am a giant wuss and this is where Edsel gets it.
On the side of my house is this giant heater/air conditioner unit, and also 80,000 feet of very scary pricky climbing rose bush action, and it is trying to bloom but there were all kinds of weeds getting in the way. So I climbed the ding-dang air-conditioner box and hung precariously off of it and got completely attacked by prickers while I attempted to cut ONLY the weeds and not the pretty roses and every time I came up with a pale pink rosebud I felt bad.
I was in the midst of this unrewarding task, so covered in prickers I was mistaken for a porcupine by my neighbors and shooed away, when I heard rustling in the leaves. I figured it was one of the 8,000 bunnies we have, but when I turned around?
It was a little apricot-colored dog.
You know I don't know from little dogs. It was a Yorkie, I think, or maybe a Pomeranian. Anyway, it was smiling up at me and woooshing its huge feathery tail, obviously attracted to porcupines, and when I said hello it ran away.
I uncontorted myself from my air conditioner and when I got to my front yard, there was nobody with the dog. There she was, running up and down my yard like a crazy person, if a crazy person were six inches tall and feather-tailed.
Then she headed straight to the busy street where Tallulah had gotten hit.
Honestly, is this an epidemic?
So me and my prick suit ran out there and called her over to me just as she was inches from the road, and unlike my OWN dog, she turned around and smilingly ran right into my pokey arms. She let me pick her up and I could feel she had peed herself from all the excitement of meeting a 5'6" porcupine.
The whole thing was pleasant.
I walked down my street, where I had traversed at least 10,000 times this past week looking for Lu in all the wrong places, and there was a family in their back yard, hanging on the hammock, barbecuing, and when they saw the human pincushion with a Yorkie or a Pomeranian or whatever the hell they screamed, "SUGAR!" or some equally dumb name.
June. Losing readers who've named their dog Sugar since 2011.
Their dog had escaped and they hadn't even noticed, which I guess can happen when your dog weighs .06 ounces. They were very grateful and said, "Aren't you the person who lost Tallulah? We heard she came back." Clearly we are famous in this neighborhood. Perhaps I am known for my prickly personality.
Oh, and speaking of which, I got a card from the girl I ran into. Remember last month, when I was shopping and my car rolled into that poor girl in a parking lot? She sent me a card saying if anyone was going to hit her, she was glad it was me. So that was nice. It's not every day you get a card from someone you smack into and dent.
And speaking of nice, thank you all for caring so much about Tallulah and her bad self. Thanks for the suggestions about getting her home, and for willing her to come back. I wonder if that's what did it? She was out there having the time of her life like Patrick Swayze, but she kept getting the feeling she should come back to Kellerman's and do the last dance with me.
Someone has seen that movie too many times.
I carried a watermelon.
Anyway, thank you again. Oh, and happy mother's day! Am going to spend today avoiding all restaurants. Because I'm social that way.