Well ladies and gentlemen, I’ve never said it before, and I doubt I’ll ever say it again.
There comes a time in all of our lives when we have to pack up our stuff, including one of the two AKC registered puppy dogs and just leave.
Leave the other dog in the backyard in some sick and twisted sense of hope that destiny will take over.
Quick side note.
I replaced my wireless keyboard and mouse yesterday, and I’m still getting used to the keyboard. As such, the pontifications in the post you are about to read may be a little jittery as a result of my curmudgeonly attempts at acclimation.
Leave the other dog in the back yard with all of her chew toys, the defective boomerang (a stick), and a couple dishes of food.
I’m not going to spend a whole lot of time trying to figure out why that happened or what the circumstances around the whole situation were.
Afterall, the view through the windshield in front of you is bigger than the one in the rearview mirror.
Saturday, September 11, 2021 started like any other Saturday for me. Given the significance of the day, I’m made an extra effort to insure I was wearing something patriotic. I opted for the Captain America t-shirt with the “No, you move” speech on the back.
After walking the TharpSter Treadmill around the neighborhood, I provided technical support to a senior member of the organization, and then ran to the store for a fresh supply of tasty, yet hypoallergenic laundry pods.
Like I said. Normal Saturday morning.
As I arrived back at the compound, I received a text from a friend:
“Just got a text from a friend that someone sent her a text about an abandoned 6 year old silver lab that is needing a home…..”
For the record, I was today years old when I learned of the existence of a Silver Labrador. I knew of the black ones, the yellow/golden ones, the chocolate ones, and I suspected there were clear ones out there too.
But silver?
Fast forward six or seven hours past the discussion around the emergency board meeting that was called as a result of this lab, the ensuing phone calls, the supplemental budgetary discussions, the considerations for the canine contingent here at headquarters who would prefer to be the only canine contingent, and other pointless, meandering babble which would make you grab me by the lapels (of which I don’t really wear) and demand that I skip to the end, we found ourselves in the backyard of a new found friend, meeting a silver Lab named Charlie.
The play in this keyboard is a little more loose and devil-may-care than I’m used to.
For those of you not in the know, “Charlie” is the name of my late Father-in-law. I never met him. I also have a nephew who was named after him.
Granted, the lab is a female.
When I was approached a few weeks ago by the other members of the house (all of the human ones) with the objective of talking me into allowing a second dog to join us in our endeavors, one of the conditions was that I would assume the naming rights.
We had just about settled on the name “Roscoe” for our non-existent companion who would join us by the end of September. Sadly that name was vetoed by the senior member of the organization who required technical support yesterday morning. “Roscoe” was the name of a belligerent individual she worked with years before I was born, and I guess the bitterness still runs deep.
At this point, do I really need to tell you that Charlie the 70 lb. silver Lab returned to the compound with us and is on the fast track to assuming the title of Chief Fetching Officer while retaining her name?
On an unrelated note. I’d like to thank the good people at YouTube for posting a video to help me clear the line jam on my weed eater.
