RIP One Easter Bunny

He was supposed to be a mostly "indoor" dog.  That was my wife's plan, at least, but more and more, it becomes evident that he is not.  She sometimes tries to bring him inside, but normally within a matter of minutes he begins whining like a tired toddler, and barking until she relents and takes him back out.  It's hard to fight those natural instincts.

To say that Buster has a lot of energy, is pretty much an understatement.  He is definitely a bit on hyper side and he tends to make known to you, the pleasure that he has, of you coming outside to see him.  He varies from bounding about, to leaping up towards you (two paws forward, which can be painful at times).  My wife has tried some of the Dog Whisperer techniques to keep him from his ballet like antics, but unfortunately she has not yet tamed the beast.

That brings us to a time near the most recent Easter holiday.  My two young boys and I had ventured into the jungle that we commonly refer to as our backyard (I really am truly hoping that the rain will cooperate with me, so that I can finish mowing it.).  We were playing, kicking a ball around, when we came across a rather gruesome scene.  There, lying next to the garage, were the grisly remains of a fairly good sized rabbit.  Our little Buster had claimed an unfortunate, furry victim.

I had to keep my rather curious young geeks at bay, as they tried to get a better look at the macabre sight.  Reminiscent of a CSI episode, I examined what remained of the poor creature.  Flies were encircling his little corpse like bi-planes around King Kong.  One front leg was missing (I guess it wasn't his lucky one, eh?) and there was a little hole there where it had once been.  The geek in me came out, because to me, it looked sort of like a biology class dissection project.  It was interesting to see some of the inner workings of the little guy.  A little gross, but interesting.

I ushered the boys inside and had to break the news to my wife about what had happened.  It saddened her, of course, that her little baby would do such a thing.  I saw her heading out the door with two WalMart bags, and I said, "No, you are not going to do that."  Besides the fact that I feel a certain amount of responsibility to handle some of those type of things for her, I knew that she can't even cope with the sights or sounds of vomit, much less the little bio-hazard we had going outside.

No gloves were readily available, so I had my wife fashion two impromptu ones out of the bags she had.  With a few more in hand, I set out to do the necessary deed.  Though not trained to do this type of work, I was able to get it accomplished.

So if you didn't get as much sweets during the holiday as you have in the past, now you know.

~TGCD


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"Easter says you can put truth in a grave, but it won't stay there."  ~Clarence W. Hall

Doggone Dogs And Doorknobs

Let's set the stage.  My two boys were in their normal rambunctious state, just prior to going down for the night. One very tired Mrs. Geek asked a favor of me.  In her most humble of voice, she asked if I would "have a heart" and let her dog in when I came to bed.  (I use the title of "her dog" for a variety of reasons; longer than I could get into in this post)

;-)

At about 1:30 am, I remembered my promise, and feeling a bit tired myself, made my way back to the back door to let him in.  I unlocked the latch and turned the knob, with no perceptible result.  The door remained stubbornly closed.  Deeming myself to be more intelligent then a doorknob, I kept trying various ways to get it open.  Despite all of my probing, prodding and pulling, the lock remained firmly in place.  Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

It is important to note, that her dog, as well as the juvenile delinquent neighbor dog (one who was slated for a "deportation" of sorts after killing one of their chickens) was pawing at our back door and whining in empathy for my struggle.

Time for some proper tools.  Where's the screwdriver?  I knew that I could ask my wife and she would be able to tell me fairly easily where I could look, but the Sir Galahad in me would not allow me to disturb her peaceful slumber.  After multiple looks in all the usual hiding spots and traveling past the quizzical looks from our cats, I found my prize.

One phillips head screwdriver later, and I started work on the obnoxious doorknob with a renewed fervor.  I was a flurry of tightening, loosening and poking.  It was obvious that my nemesis was winning this battle.  I resorted to taking off the inside knob completely, but the halfway dismantled apparatus defiantly resisted every attempt of mine to dislodge it.

Having labored for at least forty minutes, it was time for plan B.  Traveling through the house to the front door, I decided to retrieve our little friend the long way (which obviously in retrospect, would have been the shorter way).

Separating the aforementioned juvenile delinquent from Mrs. Geek's very jealous dog, I was able to lead him to the front of our house.  Opening the door wide and in hushed tones, I encouraged him to go in.  No go.  Just a blank stare. More pleading, he just plodded back towards the back yard again.  Uggghhhhhhh!  Not wanting to raise my voice (which is something I am sure my sleeping neighbors would appreciate after 2:00 am) I walked to the dog, hoisted him like a sack of potatoes, lugged him back into our home.

From there, he promptly ran with breakneck speed to our bedroom, bounded to the bed, and did what could only be likened to a WWF dive from the ropes onto my wife's seeping form.  Groggily, she awoke to my apologies for waking her up.  She turned to me smiling and said...

"You know, if it was me, I would have just made him stay outside."

-TGCD