Now, the law clearly states that you’ve got to kiss me.
Well, I’ve missed you all as well. I am tanned, toned, and officially back from the sunny shores of Jamaica. It was a much needed, relaxing vacation. I drank, slept, played a lot of beach volleyball with some hot Jamaican girls, swam with some hot Jamaican dolphins (huh?), and generally fell off the grid for a week or so.
Maybe I’ll put up some pics later in the week.
But for NOW, I’ve got to relay an incident that happened while we were away.
As you might remember, we have a veritable gaggle of pets. The current count stands at 1 dog, 1 cat, and 6 gerbils. My niece, bless her soul, was kind enough to volunteer to take care of them for us while we were away.
It was day 2 of our vacation, and, like Stella, I was just STARTING to get my groove back when my I got a text from my niece saying “Call me right away”.
I knew that there was NO way that could be good. My first thought was that she had lost the pooch.
Turns out that I wasn’t too far off the mark. She told me that one of Mini-Me’s gerbils, a cute little black one that he calls Sergeant, looked to be shuffling off his mortal coil at any second.
My heart sank. My son takes SUCH good care of these animals. He loves them to pieces, and he’s never had to say goodbye to any of them yet. He cried for a day when he lost his fucking BETA FISH, for fucks sake!
I knew that I couldn’t tell him while we were on vacation. It would ruin his trip. My niece said that once Sergeant passed, she would put him in a shoebox in the shed, so we could bury him when we got home.
The thought of having to break the news to the little guy weighed pretty heavily on me for the entire trip. Finally, as we were heading back home from JFK, I told him the bad news.
It was bad. Really bad. I’ve seen my son cry before, of course, but never like this. He was HYSTERICAL. Poor bugger cried so hard that he must have popped a blood vessel in his nose, because the next thing I knew he was gushing blood down the front of his shirt.
Not a fun ride home.
Anyway, I calmed him down enough when we got home to get him into bed, and promised him that when he got home from school the next day, we would have a nice burial for Sergeant.
When he got home from school, he told me that he cried during class and the teacher took him outside to give him a hug. My heart was breaking for my little man. We walked outside to the shed and found the shoebox. Poor Sergeant looked like he was sleeping. Mini-Me started to cry and said his goodbyes.
I put the shoebox on our patio table and went to dig a hole. I was gone no more than 5 minutes.
When I came back, I was surprised to see that the shoebox was upside down. Figuring the wind had blown it over, I picked it up, but was again surprised to not find Sergeant underneath.
So we sat there, scratching our heads, trying to figure out if the damn thing has come back from the dead, when what do I spy with my little eye?
Ozzie, our dog, trotting past me with a huge shit-eating grin on his face….
… and a little black tail sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
Before I could turn him away, Mini-Me also saw it, and started screaming. That brought on another round of blood all over his school clothes.
So there I was, trying to catch this fucking dog, chasing him around the backyard with his toys so he would drop the damned gerbil, while my son continued to spew blood like Ol’ Faithful.
If ever in my life I needed a Calgon moment to just take me away, that was it.
Anyway, it all worked out in the end. I was able to retrieve the thankfully-unmangled Sergeant, and we tearfully laid him to rest.
And the entire time, there was only ONE thing running through my head….
I am going to have to go through this shit SEVEN more fucking times…..