Have You Seen My Dog?

 
Pets are a pain in the ass and I'm the first to admit my track record isn't great.  In most cases, I believe one should take responsibility for their own actions and not blame others, specifically, their mothers.  I say this as a preemptive strike of course, but I never had a real pet so in this case I take exception.

I grew up with disposable pets; a goldfish, a parakeet, a chameleon.  All of which died under tragic circumstances.

The goldfish went down the drain when the bowl was being cleaned.  There may have been a garbage disposal involved. 

The chameleon escaped it's cage and was found a week later frozen in a block of ice on the windowsill.  My mom was convinced it was breathing so she tried to defrost it unsuccessfully in the oven.

We had the parakeet the longest which is interesting because I've come to observe that only crazy people keep birds as pets.  It's true.  If you own a bird, trust me, you're a little off.  If you don't think so, it's time for some serious introspection and perusal of your medicine cabinet.

The longevity of the parakeet had more to do with luck than exceptional care.  Did you know fly paper can trap a parakeet as well as flies?  My dad bravely attempted to peel the flailing bird from the fly paper, but this was not an easy task as this adhesive is not recommended for feathers.  I don't know why that wasn't listed next to keep out of reach of small children on the warning label.

My sister was doing dishes and I'm not sure what my dad was thinking because once he finally executed the bird rescue, he dropped it in the hot, soapy dish water where it sank to the bottom with a thud because any feather not left on the fly paper were stuck together.  The F bombs were flying as my dad went fishing to get that poor bird out.  He then used fingernail polish remover to get rid of the adhesive and in the end that bird had only tail feathers, but survived the plucking and boiling.  

When I moved out of the house, my parents decided they were no longer crazy and gave the bird to my now deceased, but cranky as hell, old uncle Dick.  I would speak ill of him even if he were still with us because he was mean.  If you tried to grab Cracker Jacks, as in a piece of popcorn and a peanut, instead of the Cracker Jack he offered you, he would hit your hand with his cane.  Anyway, he let the bird "free range" and he rolled over on it in his sleep or that's his story anyway.  He disposed of the body before we saw it so no word of any kinky proclivities or if the bird was dressed in a negligee.

When I bought my first home I wanted a dog because my parents would never let me have one.  It turns out, I'm not really a dog person.  They tear a lot of shit up  and get hair on everything.  I am sure I am on a master "do no let this lady adopt" list somewhere that PETA puts out, but I finally did find a dog that was a good fit for our family which is why I started this post.  

He's missing.  Finley's been gone since yesterday and I'm really bummed.  We have a fenced yard, he has tags, and he's chipped, but one of the neighbor kids left the gate open.  I'm cutting everyone off.  No more Popsicles until Finley is found.  

UPDATE:  F inley is now home after spending the night in a loving home.  My guess is  he'll make a break for it and head back to their house the first chance he gets.