Why I Hate My Dog

I was on time, everything on schedule. Kids out for the bus (early actually), my eggs in the pan, coffee brewing. The twins were already at the bus stop and the Squirrel Trapping Son had just walked out the door. As I waved to him through the window, he mouthed something to me. I couldn’t hear, I mouthed back. He shrugged, motioning for me to open the window, but it is cold and I didn’t want to let the cold air in. My eggs snapped and sizzled in the kitchen, bringing a little panic to the situation because momma don’t like crispy eggs. Since he was early out the door, I motioned for him to come back in and tell me his oh-so-important news. Then I went to the kitchen to check on the eggs. And waffles. I’ll admit. I subbed my (regular) toast today for waffles, which is probably the evil in it all.

I removed my eggs from the pan, putting them on my ready plate. Poured the water in my French press, stirred the grounds. Inhaled the lovely aroma of coffee, hot eggs and waffles. Mmm. The waffles had a little more time on them, so I went back to the window to see if Lootie was still there. He was gone. A guilty twinge ran through my body, imagining him sulking to the bus stop for lack of getting his message to me. I figured I had a minute, so I’d pop my head out the door and call down to the stop to see if what he needed to tell me was still pressing on his mind. And that’s when it happened.

I knew Nacho was hot on my heels, but I thought he’d obey me, as we have this loving relationship and all. But he’s a little *Rotten Evil and no sooner was the door open was his rotten little rat terrier body was sprinting out the door. It all happened so fast, I say. I heard the jangle of his ID tags, but with no coffee in my system, I didn’t register that he was attempting escape.

The world stopped as I threw my head back and rolled my eyes big enough for stage theatrics. If there was room enough around me I may have just flopped on my back, arms out, woe is me. There are two stops by both corners at our house. The kids go to one (the one farther away) and then there’s the one right next door to our house. I just KNEW Rotten Evil was heading over the one next door. Every morning he watches, tail wagging, as the kids congregate on the corner. Wag, wag, wag, desperately wanting to play with them. I really did not want to be responsible for one of those kids laying a chocolate brick in their pants and missing the bus because they had to run back home to get a change of drawers, you know?

I stomp, stomp, stomped up the stairs with visions of kids screaming as he tried to lick them to death, kicked off my cozy slippers (thank goodness I was dressed already), put on my clogs, grabbed the stoopid doggie treats and headed out the door. Sure enough, he was down where I thought he’d be, the kids in a tight circle, giggling in the excitement of it all. Although he wasn’t by the kids. He was just off the corner in the street, munching on the carcass of some furry beast, flattened on the road. Rotten carcass trumps kids any day. It isn’t the first time he’s bolted to get to roadkill.

Once again I’m dealing with a traffic-stopping dog emergency. I glance up at a car waiting to make a turn and see my daughter’s friend behind the wheel, with my daughter and another friend. They’re laughing. Nacho’s snipping off bites of carcass (probably a squirrel trying to get one of the peanuts). I shake the treat box. He flutters over, but evades me. I tell him to SIT and his whole body fights against his tiny brain as he tries to obey the command. His tail is wagging, his eyes on the road kill… but he sits. And I grab him with the reflex of a cobra. Disbelief, really, that I caught him on that first try.

I thought that would be the end of it, but the bus stop kids had to ooh and aww and ask questions. Pet him. I figured it was worth it, ’cause if it happens again maybe one of them can grab his evil butt for me, since they’d be acquainted now and all. As I carried him in, Lootie came down from the opposite bus stop. “Bad dog Nacho!!” He said. Oh good, now is my chance to hear his important message. And then the recycle truck came. Lootie yelled something to me, inaudible again. Huh? He yelled again. Oh goodness, here we go — this is what started it all, the inaudible conversation and my guilt for being a negligent listener mommy. Or was it the waffles? Anyway, I think he was concerned about that squirrel trap and the recycle/garbage man knocking it over. I don’t know. But he retreated to his bus stop and I went inside with the ball of evil hitched on my hip. My lovely pink sweater had muddy Rotten Evil dog prints all over it. The waffles had popped up long ago. A brief re-heating saved them. I topped them with blueberries and Aguave syrup, and ate them as I wrote this entry.

*One of my “pet” names for our lovely mutt.

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