He needs to be, because he lives with me, and I generally have enough schemes cooking to make Lucy and Ethel look like normal people.
Here’s the current situation.
We have some neighbors two doors down who got a puppy. An active breed, and they have small children. In an effort to keep ranting to a minimum, I’ll just say that the puppy got locked in the back yard and neglected, to the point where I had some long discussions with Animal Control on where neglect ended and abuse began.
Many of our neighbors agreed that the situation was very sad and the puppy was neglected. They all agreed that somebody should say something. Then they went in their houses and hid like a bunch of pantywaists.
I kept quiet as long as I could stand it – six minutes, by my watch – and then somehow, through sneakiness and eloquence combined with a big spoonful of bullshit, got the neighbor to agree that it would be a big favor to Jesse and I if we could walk his dog for him, and got permission to go into his yard any time we wanted to and take his dog.
The conversation even ended with smiles and laughter.
I still don’t know quite how I managed it.
This is where the saintly qualities of my husband come in. Because while I talked the neighbor into dog walking arrangements, I go to work every morning, and guess who has to actually WALK a desperate-for-attention, crazed, high energy, puppy?
Yep, the hubs. And he has to walk our dog, too.
Now our dog, Bander, is gentle and well behaved, but he had a mission in life, and that’s to put in more miles than Lance Armstrong on a daily basis. Our not-dog, Duke, is so happy to be out of the yard for a change that he puts in some serious mileage also. On the other hand, it does have some rewards – because here’s the face Duke makes when he sees us now:I have the wild ideas to save the world. Jesse does the heavy lifting and the trench digging to make it happen. He’s awesome.
I'd like to point out that I'm embarrassed now, and that she often exaggerates.