>must be that time of year…

>Having several tumultuous things happening in my life all at once as of late, I have been rather piss-poor at keeping up with my blog-reading. And writing. But that’s none of your business.

So last week I decided to see just what was happening in the blogosphere, and learned of Magazine Man’s recent Blaze

incident. I felt for he and his family, having two dogs myself that I also consider to be part of my family, and felt thankful that both were home and safe.
Until this morning.
I receive a panic-stricken call from my husband.
“Duke…he…got out…can’t…find…him…helpmehelpmehelpme!!!!”

Shit.

Duke has…issues. I have questioned his sanity before. He is a beagle. Four years old. We acquired duke three years ago next month when we still had my boxer, Kaia, who passed a month later after his acquisition due to kidney failure, and Duke was a true comfort. Actually, comfort is the wrong word. Distraction would be more accurate.
Duke was a rescue dog. He had been removed from a home due to abuse and placed in foster care, which is where we found him. He was sweet, and cute, and had us completely snowed. He knew the score. We did not, and thusly took him home.

I’m not how sure of this you are, but beagles tend to be…loud.
And hyper.
And troublesome.
And obnoxious…destructive…mischevious.

And as such, Duke qualifies. For the ruddy honors program at that. He’s an overachiever.
And a raging cleptomaniac. Preferably when it comes to bright yellow tennis balls. At the dog park. This makes the Labs very put-out.

But I digress.

Hours are spent searching for my wayward canine. The house sits on a sort of greenbelt, which basically translates into a 5-acre or so forest with lost of trees and underbrush, perfect for a 13-inch beagle to get lost in. Which he did. I remained hopeful.

We gave it the ole college try, interrogating neighbors and passers-by, informing them that yes, he was tagged and microchipped and would they be so kind as to call blah blah blah. Everyone seemed eager and willing to help, and thusly restoring my faith in humanity. Of course, they hadn’t met duke yet, so their attempted philanthropy was completely objective. Duke has a way of changing people’s minds.

After several hours of fruitless searching, we, heartbroken, decided to start over in the morning.

This is where Duke’s cleptomania came in rather handy.

I receive a call at work the next day from Bryan, who informs me that he had gotten a call from a neighbor a couple of doors down who knew of our plight and as such called us immediately when he spotted our vagabond dog. Although it wasn’t so much of a spot as it was a…blur. You see, this neighbor of ours was playing with his children in their front yard. With…give ya three guesses…

Bright yellow tennis balls.

In the midst of a lofty toss to his daughter, our neighbor sees a smallish, black, brown, and white mass dart out of the woods, abscond with the ball mid-throw, do a pretty impressive U-turn, and stand staring at them, tail wagging furiously, with a “what?” expression on his face.

So needless to say we now have Duke back. I did miss the little bastard.

So I will try and write more. I’ve noted that though I may not have many comments posted on my blog, I sure do get a lot of people bitching at me that I don’t blog enough. Oh, the pressure!!!

My life is settling a bit so I promise I will work on it. I have pieces due for a cafe show for my paintings that I’m working on, a job interview on Friday, and a huge life altering situation that I am not going to go into on my blog, because, again, it’s none of your business. Ha.

Voulez-voulez-vous _______.

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