The Dog Catcher Gave Her Back!!! What Am I Paying Him For Anyway?! INCARCERATE!

It is hard work, being a dog-owner and a dog-hater all at the same time.

Last year, I rescued a very nice, well-mannered dog from the pound as a gift for my son's 5th birthday. She really is about as nice and pleasant a dog as I have ever met. I wish I loved her, but I just don't. I do love my kid, and thus, the dog stays.

I USED to like dogs. I adored my first dog. Sandy was a chihuahua mix mutt and probably smarter than me. I did local dog shows with her, she slept curled up behind my knees or with her head resting on my neck every night. She survived being hit twice (tire fetish) and had the cutest puppies every time she got knocked up. We got this one and only dog while my grandmother was alive and grandma made sure she was house trained. Grandma was really good about getting things to poop where they oughtta; I could sure use some advice from her ...

When grandma died and my parents went crazy, we went from 1 well-trained dog to about 8 untrained beasts within a couple of years. I HATED it - the dogs would bark like maniac killers whenever people came to the door; they'd run around terrorizing the neighborhood; they were completely not house trained, so there was poop and pee EVERYWHERE, all the time. It stunk so bad I RARELY had friends even walk into my house (seriously, like twice), and so now I pretty much can't stand the stupid, barky, licky, deficatey, dumb creatures, however kind and sweet and fun.

I like cats. I am a cat person.

I also like rats, but not the giant one that lives under my patio ... he, with his giant boy rat parts, frightens me.

SO, we have this dog. I thought I would learn to love her, but it's been over a year and still, I hate her.

(Could you guess that the dog got out again today?)

Yes, she did.

I was working in the front yard, attacking grass. Now, I didn't actually observe this, but piecing it together, Canon must have opened the front door and out she ran. I looked up and saw Canon across the street, going up the neighbors porch, yelling, "JOOOONA! NO!" while Juna ran away from him. It does no good to chase her, she'll run away forever; it's her favorite game. Sagan was outside as well and crying. I ran to grab Canon and took both kids in the house and set them down, then opened the back gate - sometimes, if no one chases her, she'll get bored and come back on her own.

I started feeding Sagan, then Crichton comes in an announces "MOM, JUNA IS OUT!"

"Yes, I know," I say, "I opened the gate. Hopefully, she'll get hit and die." Yes, I did say this to my small child ... I know, I AM a bad mom. He doesn't know I 'm just kidding, because I'm not kidding. SO it's every bit as harsh as it sounds.

My little knight in shining armor, good and moral and upright in all ways, Crichton rolls his eyes at me and goes out to try and chase her down.

Followed by little brother.

Then I see the Animal Control Truck pass my house.

Double Dog Dammit - I mutter under my breath (the profanity has been creeping out more and more lately). I pop sweet hungry Sagan off my boob, yank down the bra, run down to wake up my mom (yeah, I freaking work all night and SHE takes the naps - old people!).

"Hold Sagan, Juna got out, the kids are chasing her and the dog catcher just pulled up."

"Oh, no!" she says.

I roll my eyes.

Running outside, I see the dog catcher and my kids are a block down the street (the BUSY street!) and my kids are scurrying towards me while the dog catcher (a portly fellow in blue police-like attire) jaunts away after my dog.

Crichton reaches me.

"He's gonna catch her, mom," he says, worried.

"What did he say?"

"He asked if that was my dog, I said 'yes,' and he said told us to run go tell our mom or dad."

"Ok, you and Canon go in the house, I'll try to help him get Juna."

I hop into Rocket (my red minivan), leaving the side door open, and zoom down the street after the dog and dog catcher. I'm not going to cry, I'm NOT going to cry. Whatever happens, it'll be fine, no big deal.

Three blocks away, I spot them. I wasn't sure if this was a good dog catcher or an evil dog catcher, so I tried to get the dog to jump up into the van - thinking maybe I could be her get-away car and save her from certain destruction and maybe avoid getting a ticket or citation or spanking or whatever they do to naughty dog owners who violate leash laws, if I could just catch her myself.

She, of course, refused to FREAKING cooperate. No, instead, she ran through an open fence, into someone's lovely garden paradise of a back yard. I stood by the opening, Dog Catcher dashed around the garden, through flowers and bushes and finally nabbed the stupid (can I say it? sure) bitch as she paused to sip from the pond. Personally, I think she was tired of her life on the lam and wanted to be caught.

He dragged her by the collar and handed her over to me. She drug me to the van and hopped right in. I thanked Dog Catcher profusely, hoping my gratitude would protect me from whatever terrible consequence Dog Catcher had in mind. He was cheerful and polite. One would never have known he had just chased my dog down for about 6 blocks in 90 degree heat in long pants and shirt. I offered to drive him back to his car and he respectfully declined. I drove home and waited for Dog Catcher to knock on my door.

The knock never came.

Later, while reading a Spiderman 3 book, I brought up the idea getting rid of her. Poor, tender-hearted kid gets the quivery chin. "Oh, you know I'd never get rid of your dog. But ... if we did sell her to a nice family, you could get maybe $100. You could buy a lot of Transformers (TM) with a hundred bucks!" He starts to cry for reals so I apologize and procure candy.

Kids love their dogs.

Later, I noticed a trail of dog food going from our garage down the sidewalk about 30 feet.

"Did you leave that trail of dog food, Cri?"

"Yes, I was trying to get her to come back when you said you hoped she'd die."

"Oh."


I really am a bad mom.