Of course, I'm talking about Ruby the Dog here.
You may remember the invasion of the chipmunk
from several weeks ago. The chipmunk decided to come back
into the house a few days ago, earning him his new name, assigned by Gretchen who watched him pop in through the open back door, right onto the must-smell-exactly-like-dog rug that Ruby likes to lie on in front of the door.
That would, unsurprisingly, be Dumbass. Because you just have to be exceptionally stupid for a chipmunk to come back to play with the dog again. Happily, Dumbass was easily chased back out the door this time, without ending up underneath various bits of furniture. I missed all of this excitement, not having gotten downstairs yet.
But I did not
miss last night's excitement.
See, I had promised to take Katie (and by extension the rest of the family) out for frozen custard last night in repayment of some minor slight that she felt that she was suffering through. It was getting late enough that it was definitely time to be going, so we just needed to let Ruby in from the back yard, get her in her kennel, and proceed on our way.
Ruby was on the back porch, so it was a simple matter of getting Julie to let her in.
"Aaaugh! Ruby's got an animal in her mouth."
And Gretchen said, "I don't do dead animals".
Julie: "She dropped it. It's breathing!"
Me: "Ok, not a dead animal."
Gretchen: "Oh, no. You don't try that
Me: "Everybody out to the car. I will deal with Ruby."
Julie: "But it's alive! She's licking it!"
Me: "Go to the car."
Julie: "I can hold the flashlight for you."
Me: "Everybody go to the car. Now!"
Finally, everyone else was kicked out the door. Let me grab a Pupperoni to lure Ruby into her kennel. Hand into bag of treats.
Bag of treats is filled with dust.
Ok, I can grab the Beggin' Strips that I bought at Sam's Club. They're right here. Let me cut the two bags apart. Now I will tear off the easy-open strip and--
The bag won't open.
What you don't
know is that the bruising on my injured left foot has progressed to the point where standing in one place hurts like hell. Moving
is fine. What can I say?
I am now standing in one place and becoming progressively more furious because I had had to stand around (ouch!) waiting for everyone to get out the door, then stand around to open this lousy bag, then find some scissors to work around the not-so-well-designed easy-open strip. Yes, there is nothing like pain to improve one's mood.
Eventually, I got some fakin' bacon out of the bag and opened the back door cautiously to let Ruby in. I did not see an animal either in her mouth or on the porch. Hmm.
I got Ruby in her kennel and eventually figured out where Julie had put the flashlight so I could shine it out on the stoop. Nothing there.
On the other hand, the brightly glowing blue and orange running shoe belonging to Katie was obvious at the edge of the grass where Ruby had stolen it in an effort to get someone to chase her outside and play with her. I suppose I had better get the shoe back.
And at the edge of the patio, curled up in a little ball, was a very bedraggled and damp looking baby possum, about the size of a saucer. It wasn't moving.
I recovered the shoe and went inside. I considered the chances were fair that the possum was, as possums do, playing possum. I went to the car and reported this to the family.
When we got home, I checked the patio. There was no possum to be found.
We will now see if the possum is smarter than Dumbass...