While I’ve given way to my inner Martha for an entire weekend, I think my career as a scarf weaving loomer came to an abrupt halt this afternoon when I realized that my daughter now has four scarves in various colors and weave lengths, but only one neck. Unless she spontaneously grows another neck during the holidays, I think I’m done with weaving. After all if I continue to send her to school looking like a potholder every day, the teachers may start to question my fashion sense.
When I weave (Doesn’t that sound very colonial? …almost Martha Washington-esque…), I have time to think and I was thinking that if my life story were to sell on DVD, it would have a hard time being categorized. Would it be a tragedy, drama, or comedy? Although there have been plenty of sad moments in my life, not enough of my loved ones have died by the sword, so I think I can safely eliminate tragedy. Currently I’m stumped somewhere in the midst of a hilarious, heart-wrenching comedic drama.
Sunday’s episode of nonsense did nothing to help me sort out the finer details of my life.
The boys were on a scouting hike Sunday afternoon and since the sun was shining and the frost had melted, FringeKid and I decided to take Oriana, the dog, for a walk. Notice I didn’t say ‘my dog’? I’m very careful with my verbiage. Dogs are accurately described as ‘man’s best friend’ and not ‘woman’s’ for a reason. Dogs are a woman’s worst nightmare.
At least this dog and this woman.
Feeling full of vigor, we were dragged meandered across town and found ourselves sitting in a park catching a quick rest. Truth be told, and it’s like I take a dose of truth serum before I sit down at my computer, I was catching a break while FringeKid played in fallen leaves. The dog, or ‘O’ as we lovingly refer to her, was eyeballing a long-haired yappy mid-sized mutt. This dog just wouldn’t shut up. In all fairness she was asking for trouble, begging ‘O’ to come kick her shaggy butt. Her owner was…there’s no nice way to say this…not home. There were no lights on upstairs. The gray matter between his ears was missing.
You get my point.
I guess ‘O’ had reached her breaking point, because in one quick act of Houdini proportions, she slipped out of her harness (not just collar) and ran full speed ahead. She pounced the barking mutt, but ‘O’ isn’t a fighter at heart, so she decided that while free, she may as well explore the town on her own.
By this point FringeKid and I are frantically running after her pleading for her to return. This is when ‘O’ lost all reason. She ran directly into the road and was hit by a large grey van. I watched, as if in slow motion, my dog smash into the front left fender of the van and be thrown into the middle of the street. I stopped running. Her yelps of pain carried in the crisp air and she did a dead man’s roll.
Before I could have one logical thought, she jumped to her feet and took off running right in our direction. FringeKid and I dropped to our knees, arms outstretched and she ran right past us with barely a glance. She ran past the toddlers riding their bikes, past the father raking his lawn, past the group of teenage girls on a scavenger hunt and past the two middle-aged female walkers. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was gone.
An entire year of drama and now she was gone. There was no use chasing her, because at peak physical condition, I only jog at a maximum speed of 5.3 miles per hour. FringeKid is slower.
I looked like a fool walking my empty harness that dangled from my chain link leash for the two miles it took us to reach our doorstep. FringeKid was on the verge of tears. I somehow managed to offer words of condolence, while inwardly singing the Hallelujah chorus.
I know that’s terrible and it shows my blackened heart, but believe me God got even.
As we walked up the steps to our house, FringeKid said she was going to check the backyard for ‘O’. The words “She’s not there.” didn’t make it from my lips when I heard her screams of delight. ‘O’ was waiting at the back door.
She ran right home.
She doesn’t seem permanently damaged, although she spent this morning sleeping in a patch of sunlight for an inordinately long time.
I’m sure to the bystanders that watched our episode in the park Sunday afternoon, it was a comedy. To FringeKid it was a tragedy with an unusually happy ending To me it was all drama.
And to think, it wasn’t even a Monday.