Made me so mad.
I got his house key, followed him home, put his butt in his kennel, and came back home. This probably sounds terrible, but I was glad to be rid of him for a while.
In his absence, I went up to the community garden to check on my crops. Everything was doing well, but grass was sprouting in the new squash plot. Outside of the fenced area, there's a pile of arborist wood chips taller than me, so I decided to wheelbarrow some to the plot for weed control. There was also a pile of flattened cardboard boxes against the fence. I filched some, carpeted the plot with them, and started hauling wood chips to pour on top of them. It was 3:00 and hot as heck, and I gave up after two loads. Once The Husband gets up this morning to babysit Roscoe, I'm going back to the garden to move more wood chips.
I will be glad when Roscoe's family comes home.
Margarita night was a little different last night. About the time The Sister-in-Law and I start texting, making our plans, Cousin Debbie called, wanting to know if we were going out as usual, wanting to join us. She intended to bring her grandchildren with her, two little boys, 3 and 10 months. I thought, Oh, no...children. They are sweet little boys, and cute as buttons, but . . . little children and restaurants are not a good combination. Says a woman who, years ago, took her own two little boys to restaurants.
I sat next to the 3-year-old. Correction: I sat next to the 3-year-old's chair, for he stayed in it very little. During dinner, he spilled his drink. It went down my leg and into my shoe. Then he started running around and around our table, reminding me of that story where the tiger (or maybe it was the boy?) ran around and around a tree until the tiger turned into butter. (What? You don't know that story? Little Black Sambo. You can read it here: The Story of Little Black Sambo, by Helen Bannerman)
Meanwhile, Cousin Debbie was wrestling the 10-month-old, who was so sleepy he could barely hold his head up. Finally, grandma gave up. She took most of her food and the 3-year-old's food home in a take-out box.
I helped her gather up her stuff - two tablet toys, a sippy cup, two take-out boxes, and a take-out dinner for her husband. At the cash register, she handed me the baby so she could get out her money. While she was paying, the older boy vanished. We panicked and started frantically looking for him. I found him outside, sitting in a giant chair on the porch, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
We got home from dinner a little earlier than usual.
About 10:00, The Husband went over to Roscoe's house to let him out of the kennel. He came home with a giant, wet, dog face-print right in the middle of his chest.
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