I am so mad with him I refuse to speak to him all day long. I’ll not even give him a grunt. I don’t care what you say, no amount of arguing is going to change my mind. He deserves the silent treatment after what he did to me last night.
Tim was laying in the floor. He’d scooched down there after spending nearly an hour on his knees, bent over a chair. The most comfortable position he could find after yet another bout of vertigo hit him fast.
“Do I need to take you to the emergency room?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Tim muttered, his face pressed into the chair cushion.
We waited to see if the medication he’d been given last November during the last bout of vertigo would kick in.
It took nearly an hour, but when it did, Tim slipped to the floor. He couldn’t rise to get in the bed. I covered him with blankets then went to get my purse to take my own nightly med — a beta blocker. Soon as he heard me in the kitchen, Poe came running, thinking, as all dogs do, that he was going to get a treat.
Thinking I had left my purse in the car, I walked out the door, pulling it too, but not shut. Next thing I know Poe is shooting past me like a toddler on the run.
I called him, but not too loudly, it was, after all, late in the neighborhood.
He turned, took one look at me, and in an act of complete and utter disregard and outright disobedience ran off. I followed, but could not keep up. I went back to the house, got the car and drove the neighborhood. No sign of Poe. I came home, took a jar of peanut butter and put it outside the door. I closed the door but did not pull it too. Then I went to bed, worried sick that I might have just killed Tim’s best friend by letting him out.
An hour later I heard a noise. I got up went to the top of the steps and could see the front door open. There was Poe, his snout in the peanut butter jar, just beyond the front door.
I stepped outside. He yanked himself free of the jar and took off again. Only this time there were neighbors about. They’d just gotten home from a party and were laughing and carrying on. Poe took off for them, barking like their house was on fire.
“Could you help me?” I asked. “Grab him if you can.”
It took five of us, cajoling and pleading but finally Poe approached one gal. She yanked on his collar and I picked him up.
He snipped at me when he realized where I was taking him — back home.
I was the kind of mother who spanked my children.
Get over it.
They turned out to be responsible adults for the most part.
I took a waded up newspaper and whopped Poe a couple of times.
“Bad dog. You are a very bad dog!”
That’s the last thing I’ve said to him.
He better not even come near me today.
I’m tired and crabby.
Tim, however, is feeling some better.
He has a follow up MRI tomorrow.