Well, since the wee gray organ inside my skull is unwilling to spew forth anything new or creative, I’m just going to rehash the week that was.
That just was?
Is it rehash my last week?
Whatever, I’m going to tell you about some of the seven prior days of my life, is what I’m saying.
My work week got off to a rousing good start with a call for a vicious dog near some kids playing outside. The caller was afraid that the dog was going to attack the kids.
I don’t know who made the call, but when I arrived, three little girls flagged me down and pointed out the dog to me. They didn’t really have to do that since she was about a 70 pound dog and she was standing right behind them wagging her tail and looking all confused about what was going on.
I noticed that the dog was a bit wet, and when I asked the kids what that was all about, they said that they’d just got done bathing her with a hose.
Confused, I asked, “You mean you sprayed her with a hose and soaped her down, or you sprayed her with a hose to scare her away?”
Also now confused, the girls asked, “Geez, don’t you know what bathing means, officer?”
“Touche brats!” I thought, but they were sweet girls anyway.
“Somebody called and said that the dog was vicious,” I told them.
When the girls asked me what vicious meant, I found myself laughing inside my head as I mentally wrote a Dora cartoon that included a vicious bear running from the wavy forest towards the magical lake to rip her and Boots’s throats out before eating them and then wiping its ass with the map and sparing future generations anymore of that nonsense.
No, that’s not appropriate. Still, Dora and Peppa Pig could do a better job of teaching kids about some negative things in life along with their alleged positive messages.
Instead of being too graphic, I simply said that it meant that the person who called was afraid that the dog was going to bite or scratch them.
The girls had a pretty good laugh at that, and to prove the point, they all three gave the dog a giant hug as she looked at me like, “What the fuck is going on, officer? Do you have any treats in your pockets?”
That’s what I think her face said anyway, but no, I didn’t have any treats.
The dog looked pretty good for a stray, so I decided to see if she’d get in the car so I could take her to Stray Rescue. It’s not that I was being nice to the dog so much as it was a good way to kill an hour without having to answer more radio assignments.
As though she were reading my thoughts, the dog raced to the car and nearly knocked me over as I reached for the handle. She’d clearly been in a car before and enjoyed herself.
We had a fine time conversing and looking for bad guys (insert cat burglar joke here) on our way to the shelter.
I was briefly sad at having to leave my new friend with the folks at animal control, since the no kill shelter joint wouldn’t take her in for me. What’s up with that? The fine folks at animal control assured me that they’re a kinder, gentler place and promised me that they’d call me to come get her, if they couldn’t find her a home. They seemed pretty confident that they could, and I hope they do. I have my hands full with a geriatric lab with no sphincter control and whatever this one’s problem is.
She’s taken to sitting awkwardly on the stairs and staring at nothing out the windows. She only takes a break to look over at me every now and then with an expression that asks, “Why aren’t you making whatever it is I want to have happen happen?!”
I don’t know, dog!
Well damn, day one really took up more time and energy than I thought, so there’s no time to tell you about the rest of my week. So, instead of boring you with things like that pregnant woman drinking cleaning solution (she lived but I worry about her baby being raised by this person) or more shootings or my epic night of Bud Light Lime consumption, I’ll end this with my yesterday.
Yesterday, the wife woke me at seven something in the morning to go cheer for our good friend and neighbor, Margo, as she was trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon. Normally, this is no problem, but the night before was a 40th birthday party for a college buddy and I may or may not have put down 20 bottles of beer and three really good bloody mary’s with dinner. Either way, getting up was unpleasant, to say the least.
Alas, we made it to the course, and it turns out that the only thing almost as bad as running in a race is watching other people do it.
It is made more entertaining by holding funny signs though. Margo’s husband had some ready for the DOAT clan to help inspire the runners.
Ace and Cool were all sorts of into it.
Gman had his moments, but not so much.
The wife promised him a donut on the way to the run, but we ran out of time. That explanation wasn’t sufficient, however, so he spent the next seven hours talking about getting his donut until we finally found a gas station donut to shut him up.
So the thing with marathons is that apparently, men do bleed out their nipples, which is quite disgusting. Here’s a pro tip, runners – when your nipples start to bleed, that is your body telling you, “STOP! LOOK AT YOUR NIPPLES!! THEY’RE BLEEDING!!!”
The nipple bleeders did not stop though, as I saw several men with bloodied nipple shirts trudging on against the protestations of their bodies. I am quite confident that I would listen to my nipples, were I ever interested in running again.
So anywho, this went on and on and we got nowhere, so I’ll wrap it up.
I don’t know what Margo’s official time was, but it was something ridiculous like under 3:40 and she was still down on herself. That’s a perfectionist for ya. I would be proud to just finish a marathon, let alone run it that fast.
We had lunch and did some things after the race, and there were still people being announced as they crossed the finish line, six plus hours later. Most were walking, of course.
I’m sorry, but if you walk any significant portion of the marathon and it takes you more than five hours, then you didn’t run a marathon. You simply traveled 26.2 miles on foot.
I did the same thing myself yesterday walking up and down Main Street while the wife shopped. Of course, I did it alternating a five and a three year old on my shoulders, but no medal for me after the end of my long day.
Hahaha, well my brain went flaccid just now so there’s no funny ending to this just an abrupt little se