When Ned and I moved in together, he said he didn't want the dogs on the couch or in our bed. I agreed to this, although I was secretly baffled by such a rule. If it were up to me, I'd wear the dogs around my neck like a stole, which would smell fantastic. It'd be like a sachet, really.
So we bought, after much searching and what you'd call your hemming and hawing, because Ned, an elaborate wooden gate with a door you can go though rather than climb over it. I had a relative poop on her own self climbing the dog gate in HER house, and I know that idea was in the back of our minds, although we did not say so.
So, the dogs were allowed in the living room when we were home and sitting on the couch, and in the bed never, although I let them upstairs in the morning to sit with me in here. Basically, though, they're in jail. Dining room/kitchen/back yard jail.
This did not work for Tallulah. This was not what you'd call a viable plan. She was jailed for a crime she did not commit, although let's face it. Tallulah's committed every crime. She's wanted for forgery in three counties in Florida that I know of.
After six months of what I assume were sketches and blueprints, Tallulah figured out the gate. All of a sudden we'd come home and she'd be all curled on the bed up here. oh hai.
It wasn't even the bad bed; it was this one. See what a rule-follower? Edsel stayed downstairs, in his rightful place, even though the gate would be wide open, because the idea of displeasing us makes him hurl, like that guy in the dean's office on Animal House.
Saturday was a beautiful day. A perfect day, really. The blooms were all out, it was warm but not oh-dear-God-it's-the-South hot yet. "I'm going to the hardware store and fixing this gate," said Ned. Then he proceeded to tell me just how he was gonna rig this thing to Tallulah-proof it. It included the word "brackets," I think, or was that when he was discussing basketball? I don't know. It was boring. My theory is Tallulah being on this side of the gate is God's will.
"I'm going to the park, then," I told Ned. "And I'm getting a pedicure."
So I put on my fuchsia flip-flops and headed to this wooded trail, the same trail where Tallulah and I got caught in a thunderstorm years ago.
Oh, it was lovely out. I walked for awhile, but I worried I'd get all blistery in my flip-flops, so I sat on a bench in this fire pit area, and read for a bit, and enjoyed the crap out of myself. Then after an hour or so, I got back in the car and got me a nice pedicure. The name of the color was something really stupid, where they tried to make a pun with paparazzi, and I don't even know what it was. Anyway, paparazzi aren't even a color.
Finally, I went back home, and Ned had out the drill, which is never good. I avoided him, but heard many of the swears, and he was snappish, and finally he came in all aglow. "I want you to come see what I did," he said. So I traipsed over to the gate, where Tallulah resided gloomily on the other side. "I added this latch. Here's how it works, see," he hooked and unhooked it, like a little dress rehearsal for when I'd make the big walk thought to the dining room. "And I'm going to add brackets brackets brackets..." Ned's voice faded while I admired my new feet. I turned a paparazzi foot this way and that. What a good color.
Ned finally put away his drill and other manly objects, satisfied with his work. His Fort Knoxing of the gate.
That night, I was roused from sleep, JOLTED from sleep, by the most intense itching humanly possible, on the tops of both my feet. scratch, scratch, scratch, I said, manically digging at my feet. My itchy feet and fading smile can you hear me?
Ned did hear me. "What are you doing?" he groused. "My feet are killing me," I said, scratching for a change. "I must have gotten bitten by bugs in the woods. Am so looking forward to the Lyme disease or African sleeping sickness or whatever I'm coming down with.
scratch scratch scratch
"Oh my GOD, put something on them, then," said Ned, who must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something. "If I were doing this, you'd have already checked into a hotel." Someone is resentful of my vomit phobia. Someone can't let anything drop.
So I got out of bed with my inflamed feet, and opened the door to get some cream. When I opened the door?
There was Tallulah.
Tallulah Gardin. Certify geenious.
