Part Two or The Bottom Line

I decided to delete this post, and the one below it, the day after I wrote them. They served their purpose and didn't need to be there anymore. Thank you to all of you who read them and gave me encouraging words. I love you guys!

In Which I Attempt To Explain The Crisis That Is My Life

**UPDATE**

Fred and Ethel are back home with their owners! The owners saw one of our nifty signs and called me this morning...I'm so relieved. My kids were worried sick about those dogs.

So I guess Lucky and Winston dodged a bullet.... this time!

PS...I found out the dogs' real names and, big surprise, they're not Fred and Ethel.

Fred and Ethel or Why Are The Cops At My House?

My son Drew is a friendly guy. The kind of kid that dogs would follow home from the bus stop. Like today, when two actual dogs followed him home from the actual bus stop. The dogs were wearing collars but unfortunately they didn't have ID tags. The dogs are obviously well cared for. And they are happy and friendly, and...slobbery.

For some reason they remind me of Fred and Ethel Mertz. Not because of the slobber, because I've never actually seen Fred or Ethel Mertz drool, but because....well, they just do. See for yourself:

Fred and Ethel

Not knowing who Fred and Ethel belong to and not wanting them to wander the neighborhood, I decided to put them in our fenced in backyard until we could find the owners. I am a very responsible citizen, as you can tell.

The kids and I whipped up some flyers to post at the both entrances to our subdivision.

"2 Dogs Found

*golden retriever/lab

*pitbull mix

(insert my phone # here)"

Again, evidence of my devotion to the fellow man.

Drew and I hopped in the MTC (the Mobile Trash Can aka my van) to go hang our signs. On the way we asked a fellow neighbor if he had seen the two dogs earlier.The neighbor said that there was a police officer who just happened to be driving through the subdivision looking for those dogs. We took off in search of the police officer (which felt very strange as I usually avoid those guys) and found him right away. Evidently Fred and Ethel had "jumped" a man who was out walking his puppy and said man called the po-po.

The police officer followed us to our house and parked his cruiser in our driveway for half an hour. (the phone calls from neighbors started immediately) We waited for Animal Control and eventually also had **their** van in our driveway. (again, phone calls from the neighbors)

It was sad to see Fred and Ethel get loaded into the Animal Control van. I am hopeful that their owners will be reunited with their dogs soon. Fred and Ethel have to spend ten days in the pokey and then...?

**BEWARE Lucky and Winston: we may be adopting two dogs soon....**

I Resemble That Remark

GUNDYGUT: gundygut (GUHN-di-guht) noun A voracious eater; a greedy person.   [From gundy, of unexplained origin + gut (belly).] "But I am no gundygut. My gastronomical satiety has arrived at a state of surfeit..".

And Now It's The Kids

The children are making me crazy. Could you not see that I was busy watching re-runs of Monk in peace and quiet? Could you not see that I was having a nap in peace and quiet? Can one not read one's Twitter feed in peace and quiet anymore? And what about when I was enjoying a nice snack of freshly baked cookies? You really thought I wanted my peace and quiet interrupted? And again, when I was giving myself a peaceful and quiet mani-pedi?  I mean come on! You children MUST learn that the world is not all about you! Clearly it is all about me! Sheesh.

A Short History Lesson or Damn the DNA

To my knowledge it all began with Mary Letha Barnes Hamill aka "Crazy Granny".

I mean, we didn't call her Crazy Granny to her face, that would be rude. We called her Crazy Granny behind her back. Which is also rude, but not in an in-your-face kind of rude. Just a behind-your-back kind of rude which is a kindler, gentler rude, and that matters.

See, Crazy Granny had no idea she was crazy, and that is the best kind of crazy because you get to have all the fun but none of the ruminating on how crazy you are and how your particular brand of crazy is making the people around you crazy too.

Now, don't get me wrong. Just being around Crazy Granny did not make me crazy. It was the DNA.

Damn the DNA.