Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Should Have Stayed in Bed

Have you ever gotten that feeling?  Right after you get up, there is a series of Really Stupid Stuff<tm> happening and you say to yourself that you really should turn around and get back into bed?

Yesterday was my turn.  It's a shame I never listen to myself.

It started, as most days do, with the noise from the blasted alarm clock.  If there is anything more hated than phone salesmen, it's alarm clocks.  In my normal morning haze, I observed the wife get up and head to the rest room.  Not completely awake, she didn't shut the bedroom door.

An open or semi-open bedroom door is way too much temptation for the dog.  Marshall was through the portal and down the steps before anyone knew.  After all, if there is an open door, it's the Doorway to Trouble.  I didn't watch it but I assume Marshall flew down the steps and ran at top speed to see if there was any cat food.  This is a safe assumption because cat food is Marshall's number one interest.  He checks in the morning, afternoon, evening and every time he comes in from outside.

My wife was justifiably concerned and signaled so by grunting, laying down and putting her eye cover on.

Finding no cat food (the cat was no doubt looking for it too - he behaves as if nobody ever feeds him), Marshall probably went for second place; the recycling bin, where empty cans of cat food are kept.  He stands up, steals a can, takes it to his spot, then licks it clean.  Sometimes we wonder why there are so many empty cat food cans all over the dining room, especially as we use a recycling bin, not the floor.  It doesn't even matter that we already cleaned the cans - he apparently has to give it the Special Spaniel Seal of Sanitation (SSSS).

I got dressed and let the little monster out into his yard.  When my wife does this, she looks at him sternly and tells him no barking.  She swears up and down that he understands and most of the time he does not bark when he goes out.  I see no such evidence.  When I let him out, he immediately runs around the side, sits at the gate and barks for the neighbor to feed him.  Yes, he trained his neighbor to bring him food on command.

The only problem with this arrangement is that the neighbor isn't always home.  So Marshall will contently sit by his fence and bark every thirty seconds or so.  I sometimes wonder whether he remembers he's supposed to go to the bathroom or not.  Needless to say, when I say no barking, it has no effect whatsoever.

Yesterday was no exception and for some reason, Marshall decided to make the barking constant.  I don't want to be the neighbor with the barky dog, so I had to run out to get him.  Deciding it was best to go with shoes, I sat down on the couch to put them on amidst the annoying bark/squeak of my little monster.

There are some sounds that are iconic.  A whoopee cushion is one.  A fart is another.  One of the most iconic comedy sounds is rrrrrrrrrrrripp.  As all of us know, this signifies, well, something ripping.

Judging by the sudden cold, that would have been the brand new hole in the rear portion of my jeans.

My spine shivered and my eyes rolled back in my head.  I thought that this would be a tremendous sitcom, especially if it weren't happening to me at that moment.  With the sizable hole near my buttocks, I went outside to fetch the barky people trainer.  It was a brave move - screw fashion (or modesty).

Yeah, I should have stayed in bed.

Having temporarily solved the barking issue, we all went back to the bedroom; Marshall for his morning nap and me for a less well-vented pair of jeans.  While the wife was ostensibly sleeping, I swore I heard giggling.

At work I discovered that my task overload had multiplied overnight.  Keeping a cool head about myself, I continued on with the work, when I got an email from my brother.  He wanted to know if I had heard.

Heard about what?

The lady who assaulted her baby.

No, but what about her?

She's Mom's neighbor.

Oh.  Mom knows people, doesn't she?

She was going to buy a baby present.  For that particular baby.

Oh (again).

Mom makes friends quickly.  Apparently her complex is the complex in which to live, if you like occasional drama.  She thinks it was the husband anyway.  I wonder if she interviewed the police or it was the other way around.

We were local celebrities.  Not Mom... our car.  When the news showed up, they panned by our car.  My wife was thrilled.  I was thrilled, too (that there weren't any deer involved with our car).

Back to work, I was busy doing Stuff for a legal case.  It's all hush hush, you know.

Never one to be silent, my phone blared for attention - it was the wife.  All of this baby assaulting had everyone in a spin.  This was not good.  Fortunately she slept it off.

Work Stuff refused to take even a minimal break.  The Stuff I was doing had an inadvertent effect on the network, causing no end of grief and minor calls for blood, which expanded to the entire department.  Nothing was actually wrong - it was just politics.


I'm not a drinking man but I'm starting to wonder if I should look into it.

Probably should have stayed in bed this morning.  Let this be a lesson to you: listen to the voices - they may have a point.

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