Who doesn't intuit the answer to my rhetorical question? Hubby hasn't been too dastardly for a while, although I did have to make a quick detour to meet with a kind stranger yesterday, who had picked up the wallet he had managed to drop in the parking lot of the art supply store. Thank you Rick. I'm glad my card was in the wallet and you saw that the idiot on the driver's licence had the same last name. I did have a heart-stopping moment of worry when you called and asked if I had a husband or brother by the name of "?". I wonder if that is how the CHP couch the terms of inquiring into the identity of a crash victim. It was the first thing I thought of.
Back to my original tale. My foster dogs get a few miles under their paws before I leave every morning. "A tired dog is a good dog", as we say. (Same applies for children). However, on days when I can't run them at lunch, despite the side yard they have access to, they have a lot of pent up energy spilling over when I get home in the evening.
The other day I noticed that they were more mellow than usual. I didn't find out why until the next day. I'm glad I didn't. "Oh, the dogs got out yesterday" said Hubby, with that naughty boy, not quite contrite enough to be believable, look on his face. The penny dropped. Before he explained I connected the garage door opener that I had seen, out of place, on the cabinet in the entry, and the culprit standing before me.
In the fifteen months that we have lived in this house, Hubby has mainly come and gone through the garage. On occasions, when he did decide to use the front door, I was home and the door unlocked. The problem arose last week when Hubby got home early and had difficulty getting in. (The key turns backwards). Not to be deterred, or intimidated by thoughts of what consequences there might be, he picked up and hit the button on his remote door opener and up went the garage door.
What did he think would happen? Of course the dogs rushed out. Of course they went to the neighbors' house where their little girl was catching butterflies on the front lawn. This same little girl who, every time I pass by says "You know I'm afraid of dogs. You know I'm afraid of dogs. You know I'm afraid of dogs." repetitively, until I and my demure and sedate canine companion have moved out of ear shot.
I'm told there was some impressive screaming. Head back, mouth wide open, one note shrieking with a large collie putting a paw on each shoulder so he could get better look at where the noise was coming from. My husband said how strange he found it that the girl's father did not come out to see what was going on. I think that's pretty strange myself.
I was horrified by Hubby's tale and fully expected to see the police on my doorstep. A couple of days later I was outside at the same time as my neighbor and I apologized profusely. "Oh", he said "These things happen. I assumed they were nice dogs if they were living with you". He's crazy, but it works for me. I haven't stopped grovelling. He and his wife are invited to our party Saturday. I imagine his daughter will spend some time repeating her doggy mantra. She's entitled.