Sometimes my dogs wake up and choose peace, but mostly they choose chaos. That day my good pup chose utter chaos.
It had been a bad day, so I was happy to get home.
The pups immediately charge me when I come in. They almost knock me down when they slam into me. Tails wagging, just a flurry of fluff. I have almost lost a toe from this behavior.
“Boys calm down, I wasn’t gone for a year this time, just a couple hours.”
A few quick snuggles and treats, and I turn them loose outside.
I hit the music, grabbed my copy of “The Perfect Marriage,” and went out to relax. I don’t think much when I don’t see the pups. And I knew there were no geese stalking around.
They love going over to the closest neighbors. I suspect they give them treats. That is as far as they are trained to go. Or so I thought.
I quickly fell into my book. Occasionally Marlee would come up, give me a lick, and demand a head scratch.
I would absently say, “Good boys, go play,” while Major dropped his ball at my feet for me to throw again.
My friend calls and we got to talking, completely unaware of where they had ran off to. I am not sure how long.
As I finish hanging up, they were back and both looked like they had done something. But nothing looked out of place. Whatever.
They ran back off doing what they normally do. Later, Marlee returned for a needed head scratch, and I gave it to him absent-mindedly.
“My good boy.”
Major, of course hears this and runs over wanting attention as well. He drops what I think is his ball at my feet. I don’t pay attention. I just pick it up and throw it.
It felt soft and really wet and gross. I would be lying if I I said I realized that right away.
“Go get it, Major.”
I threw it back out into the yard, but he huffed at me.
“Rude.”
A little later, he came back and dropped the ball in my lap.
I looked down. It wasn’t his ball at all. It was a wet nasty sock. I instantly knew it was not my sock. I jumped up screaming and threw it out into the yard.
Major just looked at me wagging his tail. Like, “Look Mom what I got for you.”
I ran into the house to wash my hands, then darted back outside.
“Oh my God, Major! What did you do? Where did you get that from? Did I touch my face after I threw it?”
Disgusting.
Major ran off the porch and flopped down by the sock. I could see he had also dragged over what looked like half a tree. No idea how I was going to get that out of the yard. Great.
“Major, where the hell have you been?”
I look over at Marlee, and he looked completely disgusted by the whole thing.
“Really Marlee? You’re disgusted? You are the one he learned this crap from.”
“You little jerks. You knew I left the collar remote in the house.”
I just knew one of the neighbors was arguing over a missing sock.
Damn it, Major.
I quickly sent out a neighborhood message apologizing and offering to replace the sock. I live around nothing but a bunch of comedians.
I heard someone laughing and saw the closest neighbor walking toward me. It was one of their kid’s sock.
This instantly made me feel better.
Major must have known, because he grabbed that sock and shot off toward the field.
“Major! Bring that back, it is part of a pair!”
My neighbor, cracking up, informed me it was probably payback for their kid stealing his ball a couple of weeks ago.
Of course.
I am not okay. Damn dogs. Got to love them.
