Our dogs, Fern and Scout, have gotten into some really bad habits. They get on the furniture, lick my children's ice cream cones when they're not looking, and every time we open the front door, if they can find a way, they dart out and go for a run around the neighborhood. They're really not getting into any trouble, they don't dig up anything or bite anyone, they just do a little sprint, kinda like a quick 400 and then come on back to our front door spent and thirsty. You're probably thinking they should be more disciplined. You may be right, dog whispererer, but I like to look at life with a 'glass half full' perspective; my dogs take themselves for a walks.
This morning I was loading up the little ones for a park date when Scout and Fern, as usual, made a break for it. When we need to, we can keep them inside but Sadie was the last one out the door and they can smell weakness. They shoved past her and sprinted around the corner. I was, for the first time in my life, running late so I asked Dea and Darius to let the scoundrels back in when they heard them scratching on the front door.
What I apparently forgot to mention was that the dogs are to leave anything they find on their self-walk at the front door. Doritos bags, plastic bottles, rib bones, etc. are not allowed to cross the threshold of our house. Those treasures have to stay on the front porch to be properly disposed of. As I'm writing this I'm thinking maybe my dogs are, like, adopting my neighborhood, kind of like the Adopt-a-Highway program. Cleanin' as they go.
I knew I could spin it.
It became obvious that I had forgotten to mention the whole leaving trash at the front door thing when ten minutes later I got a phone call from Darius...
"MaMelissa, Scout brought a bird into the house."
"Is it alive?"
"It's totally alive but not flying. What do we do?"
Ok, I've read "Are You My Mother?" so many times I could recite it in my sleep so I immediately had a plan.
"Darius, here's what I want you to do. Walk around the corner and try to find the nest. I'm sure it's right in our neighbor's tree and you just reach up, up, up, and put that baby right back in it's nest. Then, when his momma comes home with her red kerchief tied around her head, he'll have quite a story for her."
It's become apparent to me now that the Mama Bird in that story was obviously a Blood 'cause of the red kerchief. If she were a Crip, it would have been blue. It's always nice to have a little insight into a sweet children's story such as what gang the characters are affiliated with. Don't you think?
Back to my problem...
"Uh, MaMelissa...it's not exactly a baby. It's kinda big."
"Seriously? Alright, deep breath. Just put it in a box and I'll be home in a couple of hours."
Yeah, it was a little bigger than I thought.
This is Larry Bird. We may love animals but we're not creative.
Look at that thing! It's a pigeon that my dog caught and wounded. Now what am I supposed to do with it? Trey and Hannah both think we're all going to get bird flu.
We're giving him water from a Solo cup and digging up worms for him. We're obviously struggling with guilt and trying to cover over the sins of our dogs with canned corn.
Looks like we might be forgiven for now, but where's this thing sleeping tonight?
Is it me or are those eyes saying, "Wanna fnuggle?"