Sunday, July 10, 2005

 

In Which I Hear A Noise in the Night...

Whew. Deep breath. Deep breath.

My hands are still trembling from what just happened. I--

Okay, let me back up.

Right. Well, as you know, my family has been on an extended visit with the in-laws this week. It was just going to be me and the dog hanging out, but for most of the week it ended up being just me.

The dog's girlfriends at the kennel were overbooked over the holiday and didn't have room for him, to their great regret. They love him there. So much in fact, that one of them offered to take him home and personally watch him. I was tempted but instead I left Blaze in the care of a coworker. He has two boys about 10 and 12 years old and they've been looking for ways to make some money this summer. Plus, ol' Mr. MM is their sugar daddy. When the Nintendo DS came out last Christmas and there wasn't a one to be found anywhere, who called his media contact at the company and bought one for them? When new videos and video games come out, who funnels them to the kids (hey, I need expert reviewers)? So they were glad to take on my dog.

Problem was, they didn't want to give him back. When I got home early this week, they begged to keep him til the weekend. They argued that if he came home with me he'd just be stuck in the house all day til I came home from work. Besides, they were having too much fun. "I've been teaching him to attack my big brother," said the younger of the two. "I just yell 'Blazey, get him!' and he backs him into a corner. It's great!" Great indeed. I just spent $150 on obedience training for this dog and all I got out of it is a dog that sits and stays on command about, oh, 5 percent of the time. But one week with a couple of pre-adolescent boys and now he's a police dog. Still, I let him stay.

I finally picked him up yesterday and it was a satisfying Disney-movie reunion. Blaze has always had decent hearing and as soon as he heard my voice at the door, I could hear him whimpering and yelping from somewhere in the bowels of my friend's house. He's slightly overweight for his size, which means that when he jumps on you, he can bring you down with ease. He knocked me to the floor and then my world was just a sloppy blur of cold noses and big pink tongues.

My friend's wife delivered a glowing report. She also knows that Blaze is not exactly at the top of Her Lovely Self's popularity list. "If she decides it's time for Blaze to go, he can always come here. We would love to have him." The boys nodded vigorously in confirmation.

Bemused, I mentioned this to Her Lovely Self when she called and there was a long, thoughtful silence. Before she could speak I said, "Look, he's a dog. Of course he's going to bark at any man that comes to the house. He's very protective of you and the kids. And of course he's going to scratch your floors. He's a dog. Dogs have nails. What, should we put socks on him?"

HLS simply said. "Well, it's nice to know we have options."

Hmmph.

Well, leaving that aside for the moment, the dog and I got right down to some proper slovenly behavior. We rolled around the floor, getting hair everywhere. We watched cartoons and snarfed snack crackers out of the box. Crumbs were everywhere, at least until Blaze hoovered them up.

It's been hot, so neither one of us was outside much. With the house closed up and my car in the garage, our place looked completely uninhabited. It looked as if we were still on vacation. I made a mental note to call my neighbors shortly and let them know we were back. I also wanted to know if anyone had borrowed any of my tools.

At the insistence of Her Lovely Self, we bought a house with a huge garage. It's a three-car bay--bigger in square footage than the entireity of our last house--which seemed ridiculously extravagant to me at the time, but HLS wanted the third bay to function as a kind of garden shed for her. It's there that I also keep the assorted power tools my dad has bestowed on me over the years. My dad has duplicates, even triplicates of most tools and home-improvement devices. And so it is that, among many other devices, I have a professional-grade weed-whacker and leaf blower, a rototiller and a chain saw. I laughed when he gave me this, but my dad just said "Better to have it and not need it then the opposite." And by God, the next year, when a fierce windstorm uprooted about a dozen trees in my and the neighbors' yards, who was the big hero, saving the neighbors' thousands in tree removal fees? That's right: my dad.

Yesterday, I noticed the chain saw was missing.

Not a big deal. My neighbors know they are welcome to my tools and they often borrow them during the day when Her Lovely Self is home. She probably loaned it out and forgot to say anything. One or two of my neighbors also know a little secret, which is that the latch on the garage door in that third bay is a little hinky and that if you jiggle it enough, it'll pop open and you can raise the door. One of them may have simply come while I was out and helped himself.

So I didn't think much of it.

Until I awoke last night around 1:30 to what I was sure was the sound of that garage door sliding up...



NEXT>>

Comments:
Great. Another cliff hanger I have to wait for the ending on. At least my chain saw is electric (old man's distrust of gasoline engines). Reminds me of my friend Mary from Brooklyn. I guess they were an electric-biased family as well or major appliances naturally just plugged in.

Anyway, her to be husband Jim took her to Texas Chainsaw Massacre (she married him anyway) and the film was ruined for her in that she could not conceive of the murderer NOT tripping over that miles long extension cord the chainsaw was plugged into.

He married her anyway.

Cheers.

CB
 
Oh dear....
 
Great, I just start reading your blog (thanks to your comments on Nickerblog) and you leave me waiting for the rest of the story. Eeeeevil.

But I hope all is well. Break-ins are damn scary things. Someone once attempted to break into my apartment in Moscow with a axe. Un-fun. Thank god for steel security doors.

Now, I sit and wait for the rest of your tale. (I'm unemployed. I have plenty of time to sit and wait...)
 
lost for words.

Chainsaws.

I believed in the old version of axe on the wood method.

Much more manly ... :P
 
Hopefully, a robber didn't just write this entry.

I doubt thugs have similar vernacular to yours though.
 
Are you telling me that you heard the noise before Blaze did?

Hmmm - you'd think, the dog would go ape and we'd have to peel your fingernails and toenails out of ceiling plaster for being woken out of a dead sleep by it.
 
Ahhhh. What happened next?????

Is your puppy ok? Did he again save you from certain doom and distruction? I am going to be checking this site every few hours to see if you've posted the follow on to the story.

Sure, you're probably at work, and won't get to it until later. Either way, I am hoping all is well.

Melissa
 
That tapping sound you hear is my toes... they are getting awfully impatient for part 2! :)
 
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Paul
 
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