by Ashley Weeks Cart
I started a blog post yesterday that I had every intention of finishing last night regarding the oppressive heat and nuclear fall out (i.e. LA’s BURNING!) and the Bug’s general disposition of discontent thanks to these conditions. She needs to SUCK IT UP- this is one of the trade offs of living in the land of perpetual sunshine. The post shall be finished, but was disrupted when Ursa, my first child and my darling puppy, decided to pull a Lady and the Tramp and RUN AWAY!
James had left the front door open with the stroller in front of it to try and get some cool air circulating in the stuffy house, and apparently Ursa overcame her fear of the stroller, because that was undoubtedly her escape route. To say the least, last night was filled with ugly crying. Lots and lots of ugly crying. That dog is like my blood. I love her more than I love most humans. And I’m serious. I’m one of THOSE dog people. My heart was crumbling.
James walked the neighborhood for hours, despite a searing sore throat from the ash filling his lungs (did I mention? LA’s BURNING!!!), and I wept to the police, and animal control, and my parents (because clearly my father is capable of solving any and all problems, even at 3am EST on the other side of the country). At 2am we called it quits, printed out LOST DOG posters and tried to go to sleep. I kid you not, my incredible hubs slept curled up on the floor with his pillow next to the front door, with the hopes that she would make her way home in the middle of the night.
I, of course, had horrific visions of her flat as a pancake on the road somewhere. She’s BLACK, running around AT NIGHT, with a million fire trucks flooding the streets. And she’s a moron. She was a goner. I mostly heave-cried into my pillow, teaching the Bug an appropriate display of emotion for when she’s an angst-filled sixteen year old and I’m RUINING HER LIFE! An important lesson for any future teenage girl.
Astoundingly, at inappropriate o’clock, I hear the click click click of paws on the hard wood floor, as Ursa wiggles and wags her way into my bedroom. James comes in beaming, and there is our gorgeous, crazy, wonderful, STUPID dog, happily greeting her exhausted, terrified, relieved parents. She came home and she’s all:
Yeah, try neglecting me again because of that damn baby, and next time I’ll take off to eat spaghetti in an alley with a tramp, BITCHES!
I counted 5 gray hairs on my head today. Such is the life of a parent.
James, being the ridiculously wonderful man that he is, surprised me today by coming home from work early to hang with the baby and give me some time to relax. I’m supposed to be using this free time to read 500 pages of Public Sphere Theory, but blogging’s kinda the same. Right?
Looks like someone loves when daddy’s home to put her down for her afternoon nap.
I am filled with an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude. My beautiful family is together and safe, and while we may be contracting cancer as we breath, for now, we’re healthy and happy. And who says life by the beach isn’t worth a little tumor, eh?
Way to blow a sentimental moment.