A word about my husband, the Golden Goose. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that he is referred to this because this is how he refers to himself. The Golden Goose leaves the animal stuff up to me.
That’s not to say he doesn’t have a kind heart, he’s just unable to immerse himself in chaos. Lord knows he grew up in chaos, but that’s just an unfair poke at my mother-in-law’s housekeeping. We once had a fight of such epic proportions that one of us could have easily ended up snuffed and buried in a shallow grave over something a dog I brought home did.
Let me digress, I brought home a stray dog one time we named Orlando. This dog was so dumb he wouldn’t even acknowledge anyone when they were speaking. I would have though he was deaf, but he jumped at noises. I talked and cooed endlessly to him the first few days trying to build a bridge but he wasn’t having it. Only months later, when having the house painted, did we figure it all out.
Our painter, who was of Hispanic origin, yelled to his co-worker in Spanish and the dog bolted awake and ran over with great interest. He proceeded to follow their conversations for days, shadowing them and gazing with longing at them when they were on their ladders.
Apparently, he was a Spanish-speaking dog.
Orlando was accidently left in the Golden Goose’s office where he then chewed up an item that I still don’t feel comfortable naming. The item itself, purchased by the Goose, was of a decorative and, I believe, cruel nature and had been the subject of angry and demonstrative discussion between us. Thus, it resided in his office and was pointedly ignored by me. This item, however, was quite pricy and apparently delicious as Orlando devoured a good portion of it.
Thus began what is known in my marriage as “the time of the incident.” The Golden Goose was so angry that even the sight of Orlando caused his veins to pop out in his neck and he developed a whistle when he breathed deeply. Luckily, I was able to relocate him to a bilingual home.
This was all to preface that he should have known better. The Golden Goose, who does have a heart, called me from the golf course, the only known safe place for a sport, and declared that he was bringing home a dog. I really didn’t want another dog but since I have over 100 animals myself, who was I to argue? The dog in question was a beagle. The Goose had a beagle as a child and I suppose this is what prompted his largess.
All was well until bedtime. The dog whined and cajoled until he was allowed, newly washed and cleaned, into our bed with our two Jack Russells. The problem was that he wouldn’t stay on the foot of the bed. I must emit an animal pheromone because he kept wriggling up to my head. Even I can only go so far on the first date. So, the Goose put him in a crate where he began to howl a blood-curdling howl that only a hound can emit. I mean it was LOUD. I think this is where it breaks down. Sleep deprived, the Goose stumbled back to bed where he informed me that he had placed the crate in the BACK SEAT OF HIS CAR. It was a cool night and he would be comfortable there. I informed him that there was about a 4-inch hole in the corner of the crate then. The Goose shot back a snappy retort and I just let sleeping dogs lie.
In the morning, I went to free the dog. You know when, in cartoons, a character sees something so impressive that their eyes telescope in and out of their sockets making an ahooooga sound? Uh huh. I did that. The dog had shoved his nose through the hole and eaten the back seat of the Goose’s upscale truck for men who want to say they drive a truck but really want a luxury car inside. The seat. He had eaten it. He seemed none the worse for wear for this. Upon informing the Goose of this, the dog was secured in the Goose’s office while the Goose had a tantrum that wove such a tapestry of obscenities throughout the universe that I’m sure Satan and his minions laughed with glee. I don’t know why I didn’t speak up about the wisdom of putting him in the office, that very same office, but I’m sure the memory of “the incident” was still lurking in my mind. In 10 minutes the dog had eaten the seagrass carpet off the stairs, jumped onto the desk and destroyed paperwork and made, not one, but two no-nos.
A call was made to Beagle rescue where he was placed that night. During the night at his new home, he was left for an hour while his new owners went out to dinner. They left him lounging in the living room when they left. Judging by the picture they posted of their sofa, I guess he was still hungry.
