So, Laurie was supposed to be off today, Friday, the 3rd. But work had an emergency and she was on the puter all day, working from home, managing yet another crises.

She is a hero.

Why she tolerates me - I have no clue.

After a long exhausting day, we decided to say the heck with our diets and go out and eat some seriously caloric, basically unhealthy (but fun) food.

The Universe decided not to allow this.

So, on the way to a car, I saw a dog on the neighbor's lawn. Now, a dog has frequently been parked on that lawn. A Golden. He lives there - in the back anyway. But he frequently gets out. I have put the dog back so many times now, that I have developed it into a science. The dog is not a particularly cooperative dawg. This dawg enjoys the freedom and finds it a great affront to his dawg pride and dignity, to be placed back in his confinement (a large backyard). So, anyway, I have developed the "fetch the stick" method of dawg removal. I fetch the stick, dawg chases the stick. When I get close enough to the backyard, I throw the stick into the backyard and run to close that gate before dawg senses the betrayal of the thing.

Unfortunately, dawg was not in front of dawg's house. It wasn't the Golden. It was another dog. So, I went up and down the block, trying to find out who's dog is was. I even asked at the house of the kid who was just arrested by the ATF (no, not joking). I had returned their dog in the past - at the time, not realizing that I was returning a dog to a wanted gun-toting drug dealer. Anyway, not their dog.

So, I went to dog on the lawn of the nice people whose little kids I give Halloween candy too. Little Mollie is so cute, it should be patented. She takes karate. She is about 7 inches tall. Ok, not that short, but short. It is terribly cute to see the very very wee ones in their little karate
gis. Anyway, back to dog.

So, I say to dog, "Dog, come here" fully expected the arrogant indifference of dawg the Golden. But this dog, who I named Blondie, because she's blond, comes quite obediently. She has a collar. I grab the collar, take off my belt and make an improvised leash.

Blondie is quite willing to go into the house. We give her water while trying to figure out what to do. Laurie heads off to buy some dog food and some tacks for the posters we are going to make. Blondie has registration tags, but no name tag with an address. It is 7:30 PM on a Friday night. I figure that Blondie is staying for the weekend and my cholesterol party is going to have to wait. Anyway, I decide to call the police. The guy is very nice, takes down the tag numbers and offers for animal control to come by. But, I figure...hey, why send Blondie to doggie prison, when we could put her up till Monday.

Laurie comes back with the food, Blondie is quite satisfied with the cuisine...and everything is hunky dory in the land of the Jersey suburbs.

We take Blondie out in the backyard and tie her up to a tree, so she can walk around. I start to go around the neighborhood to put up the posters, when I here a scream from Laurie. She is by the dog, and I figure that Blondie and Laurie no longer get along....and in a very serious way.

I run my bad back laden bloat of a body over to her...to discover that she is being attacked by some swarm of bees! I am tired, tired from the Blondie adventure, not knowing what to do, the bee is stuck somewhere, stinging her, can't get it away, I don't know what else to do...so I grab the garden hose and douse Laurie to chase away the bees.

For anyone who has ever been in a relationship, I can say this: that dousing your loving partner with water is about as enjoyable (in terms of payback) as getting stung by a swarm of bees. So, anyway, I douse Laurie. She is soaked, her glasses have flown off and gone.. but, the bees are gone.

I escort Laurie back into the house. I go back to talk to Blondie, who by now is herself freaked out by the swarm of bees, by Laurie screaming, by the neighbors running to see why Laurie was screaming...and apparently, by the financial crises, as Blondie is a reflective, caring and thoughtful dog and has been greatly concerned by the diminishing Asian markets.

The leash is now wrapped around the tree 900 times. I take half a millenium to untangle it, while trying to keep Blondie from losing it completely.....and head back into the house....where....of course.....Laurie, apparently, is still being attacked by a swarm of bees, now inside our house!!!

I come up to her and see the bee...(it is actually just one, but, apparently a pretty devotedly psychotic one). The little demon is entangled in her hair, unfazed by the garden hose dousing and still on its victim, my Laurie. I grab the little demon, the little demon falls to the ground. I execute him with my near ancient tennis shoes. Well, just one. But I am fat and the weight on one tennis shoe on the end of a big fat NJ hippie is enough of a match to send the psychotic bee to bee Heaven - where, no doubt, he will be entertaining the other bees for decades with a story to get them all laughing hysterically about the pathetic little humans that we all are.

The bee is done and down and gone. But Blondie is still around. Now I discover that Blondie had actually growled at Laurie and Laurie, post bee incident, is none too interested in Blondie's questionable behavior. Matt from next door, the owner of lovable pit bull Tootie, brings over a leash and some dog food.

I look for the glasses. They are nowhere to be found.

I don't know what to do about Blondie, so I just take her for a walk. She really starts to pull and I think...hey, maybe Blondie knows where Blondie lives! So l let Blondie lead and she does, for a bit anyway, but then it just stops. There is a man hanging around on the next block and I ask if Blondie looks familiar. He thinks so. So, I head up the block, find some neighbors who recognize Blondie! Of course, the owners aren't home. I arrange a multi-vector inverse non-linear piece of calculus to weigh all the variables in resolution to the problem...and, in another hour, Blondie is taken in by a neighbor who has contacted Blondie's owner. Her real name is Sandy.

I get back to Laurie and check in on her. I get a flashlight and realize that I will be spending the next few hours outside, looking for the glasses on the lawn.

I find them. And actually, reasonably quickly. The neighbors a couple of houses over, who I never really talk to, I look at and just shout, "Yes, I found them! I can have dinner!" (did I mention the weight issue?)

I bring them back to Laurie. We decide to go out and eat pancakes at 10PM. Pancakes, it turns out, are very good at 10 PM. Laurie gets some with chocolate chips in them. I don't know when they started putting chocolate chips in pancakes, but whoever decided to do that is a genius. That person deserves to win a Nobel Prize. Heck, Dr. Chips deserves all of them.

We head back. We decide to take the scenic route. Apparently, deer, in NJ, also like the scenic route. One is on the side of the road, about two feet from our car. I stop to encourage little Bambi not to become road kill. Bambi does not speak human. She moves away for a second and is quite ready to return. But we are in an empty park at 11PM...and there are so few cars and Bambi is about as safe as she could ever be in NJ. And, by the way, exceedingly cute. Even cuter than the little kid across the street in her karate gi.

Bambi, as it turns out, has cousins. Six of them at least. We meet two more sets of deer, three in each, going home. All just a couple of feet from the car...and these are on roads more well traveled. So, I make more serious efforts to be annoying to Bambis #2 - #7. And with success. Being annoying comes easily to me. I actually don't have to do anything. Apparently, it is my natural state. The Bambis appreciate this and move along.

July 3rd. 7 Deer. A psychotic bee. And a dog named Sandy.