I Am Chagrinned

My Honey is demanding a public apology in behalf of The Idiot Dog; his name is Roscoe (the dog, not My Honey,).  For once in his life, Roscoe exhibited appropriate dog-like behavior.  That doesn’t detract from his bizarre conduct, but I will have to give him props for millions of years of evolution kicking in and doing what his instincts and breeding demanded of him.  He is a coonhound, and his breed’s job is to “tree” raccoons or bobcats or what have you and bay and bay at the bottom of the tree so the hunter knows where he is and can shoot the prey.

I want to sneak in a little back story.  Our neighbor moved away without taking her pregnant cat.  I am petitioning a special seat in hell for her right next to the furnace and a fat guy with a flatulence problem.  The kittens were born under our shed.  I’ve managed to catch one of them and give it away, but at least one other kitten and the mama cat continue to elude us.  We have a tiny cat door built into a window for My Assistant to climb in and out of.  He likes to do a little sun basking and flower smelling once in a while.  Now the window is too small for him; he’s become considerably wider since the little doorway was installed.  To be honest, My Honey and I have a bit of a cruel streak, and we enjoy watching him wiggle in and out of it.  It looks like he’s being birthed.  I know we’re mean, but we gotta take our kicks where we can.  His food bowl used to be inside on that window ledge, but that stray cat was caught several times coming in to steal his food.  Now he’s fed in the laundry room.

Last night, when we went to bed around midnight, Roscoe was acting very strangely.  He was running up and down the hallway and crying.  I really didn’t think much of it because, well, because he’s him.  I often worry that he doesn’t have a brain in his head.  I just figured this was more of his annoying and bizarre behavior.  I stuck my head under the pillow and cried myself to sleep.

So this morning at around 4:30, Roscoe is in the living room baying like he’s never bayed before.  If you’ve never heard a hound dog bay, let me describe it.  You’ve all heard hounds howl and, quite frankly, I think it’s adorable.  Probably, because Roscoe doesn’t do much howling.  Baying is another thing all together.  The sound is sort of BRRRROOOOOUUUUUUUWWWWWWWWW!  He does it long and loud and with a great deal of dedication.  The vibration is so strong it sets the doorbell off and the windows rattle.  I’m not kidding.  With all the baying, and screaming from the kids, and the yelling from the parents, I’m sure the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on over here most of the time.  We might be the annoying neighbors which is saying A LOT with the Special Needs (mental) home next door, the drunk neighbors across the street, and the skater punks on my block.  However, I’d like the record to show that the police have never been called to MY home.

Sorry. I digress.  Its 4:30, there is baying from the living room, it’s still dark.  I get up all bleary eyed and crabby and try to get him to go outside and he flat out will not go.  I say, “FINE” and stomp back to bed.  Again, I want to remind you, I assume nothing is really happening because, up to this point, it has been universally believed that Roscoe should be wearing a helmet.  By 6:00 I abandon hope and get in the shower.  I hear all kinds of chaos coming from outside the bathroom.  When I emerge, Sassy is delighted to inform me that, “Roscoe treed a cat in the living room”.  I inquire, “Not our cat?” and she tells me, “No, the stray, black cat that pees in Dad’s boat.”  Oh.  So apparently, Roscoe has the cat treed on top of a very tall lamp.  Can’t you just see it: the lamp swaying back and forth, the cat hissing and spitting, and Roscoe baying for the whole world to know of his brilliance.  The cat got away.  We’ll set traps and take her to the Humane Society.  Hopefully, it has learned its lesson and she will darken our kitty door no more.

Let me clear my throat and do the apology justice.  *ahem*, Roscoe I deeply regret that I called you stupid, and an idiot, and a moron, and cursed at you.  Clearly, you know what you’re doing when it comes to cats and lamps.  I am sorry.  Now stay off the damn table.