We are going through some renovations at the moment so that means the front door is WIDE FREAKING OPEN more than it’s closed. So the dog escapes multiple times a day.
Now, in his defense, he does not bolt outside to embrace freedom every time the door opens. In fact, he is very good about not doing that (knock on wood). The problem is when someone decides to PROP THE GOSH DAMN DOOR. Who would prop a door when a dog is straight chilling beside it?
HELLOOOO do you people NOT SEE this athletic cheetah of a dog that manipulates you with sweet, sweet snuggles and kisses so that you may be fooled into trusting him to stay inside. It’s like these animals people have never seen a dog before.
The cute ones are the sneaky ones.
So, as I’m trying to get some work done, I hear the door occasionally open and close. I hear his tail wagging against the wood floor like a broom. He is pleased, per usual. He does love all the workers. They give him so much attention.
THEN I hear the door open… then I hear nothing. OK, well, mayyybe someone is standing by the door.
No one is standing by the door.
Want to know what was “standing” by the door? Not the dog but A MASSIVE UPS BOX!!!
COME ON PAUL, YOU KNOW THIS HOUSE HAS A DOG!! YOU LITERALLY FEED HIM EVERY TIME YOU DROP A PACKAGE OFF.
I spent a solid 2 minutes in a blackout rage. Seriously, I lose all my senses and forget about my surroundings. I’m sure I look like a psychopath just standing there in an open doorway staring at a box as my eyes roll into the back of my head. I do hope no one actually walked past me as I was having a mini episode that left me unresponsive.
As I am coming out of this haze, one of the closet people came down the stairs and asked me if the dog got out.
No, I just really like to stand in doorways and allow zero entrances or exits just for the flipping fun of it.
Me: He did. Did the UPS guy prop the door?
Zack (closet guy): No, but I’m a dog whisperer so if I see him, I’ll help you.
Me: How in the actual eff are you going to see him if you’re in a closet. LOGIC, ZACK! Oh, that’s cool. THANKS.
Zack: Yeah, no problem. I’ll be on the lookout.
Eyes beginning to roll back into my head as I’m shutting the front door.
I walked to the kitchen making a mental list like Arya Stark just ready to rip some faces off when the front door swings open again. The mother freaking carpet people are like, “Hey! We need to keep this propped. We also saw your dog running in the neighbor’s yard.”
LIST:
- carpet man
- closet man
- ups man
- dog
GET IT TOGETHER… no one has to die.
I load up my pockets with fig newtons and oranges. I go out the garage door and decide to set up a trap. I mean, we have been trapping animals for like 40 billion years. This is a good idea…
Surely this will work?
I start at the end of the driveway… I laid out alternating pieces of fruit and fake fruit trash biscuits.
Mind you- the driveway is long. I ran out of treats quickly. So, I resorted to mother nature for assistance. I back tracked on my trap path (say that 10 times fast) and replaced some of the treats with sticks, so I had a pretty solid path up to the garage.
Now we wait.
AND TO MY SURPRISE IT WORKED!!!
He was running up the driveway eating the trash biscuits!
At this point I’m yelling in a weird british accent but surprisingly not angry because how could you be angry at a face so happy about trash biscuits?
Excuse me, your royal pain in the ass… PLEASE COME BACK INSIDE FOR THE 1,000TH TIME TODAY!!
I know that my dog loves me. He must, right?
No. He does not. I’m just a meat sack full of bones (cue the vomit sound) that throws treats and dances when I need his attention.
tiny moments of grace 