I haven't posted in forever because I am busy with Whiskerino. I will blog about the Whiskerino experience the first week of March when it is over. Right now, I feel compelled to get some things off my chest.
A couple of weeks ago Mrs Ozzy went to Colorado for vacation. The plan was for me to meet her out there later in the week. Of course, the original plan was for us to go together, but I forgot that I had to be at work that week for training, so I stayed behind. The original plan was also that my parents-in-law were going to come stay at the house with the boy while we were gone. They are in their mid-seventies, but they are in very good health.
So, Mrs Ozzy leaves on Monday, on Tues morning the two big dogs (husky and akita) disappear. This thing happens all the time and they always come back so I'm not worried. We go to bed Tues night knowing that we would wake up in the morning and the dogs would be back in the garage, wore out.
02:00 Wednesday morning I am awakened by what I would describe as a constant yipping. It was annoying as hell and I knew it had to be my dogs so I got up. It was 40 F and raining. As soon as i stepped into the living room I smelled skunk. I turned the flood lights on and saw the dogs circling an animal they had captured. I went outside where the stench was horrific and watched the pawing this creature and yipping, but it wasn't a skunk as I suspected. It was a cat. Crapola. I could tell the thing was injured, but I couldn't tell the extent of it. I got the dogs into the garage and got a flashlight so i could inspect the victim further.
It was still alive, but not doing too good. It's hind quarters were motionless. I stood in the rain wondering what I should do. I am not a cat lover, but if I owned a cat I wouldn't take it to the vet at 2:00 am, so I'm sure not going to take this one. Anyway, I couldn't leave Jr at home by himself in the middle of the night.
As I stood in the cold darkness, rain hitting the hood of my jacket, I felt as if the world were swirling around me and I was alone. I wanted to do the right thing, but I could see a 4-figure vet bill and an angry neighbor. So, I got my shovel and decided I would examine it yet again. I poked it with the shovel. It definitely showed that it was ready to fight, but still didn't move its rear legs. Since it was so full of fight, I thought I would give it a chance to pull through rather than "put it out of its misery."
I went inside and went to bed, tossing and turning, dreaming of it dragging itself to my neighbors door, only to whisper in its last dying breath that it was the Nelson dogs who did this horrible thing.
I awoke early. Still dark and raining I could see the lifeless body at the edge of the yard. The charges were no longer assault, but murder. Episodes of CSI, Criminal Minds, Law & Order, Quincy, Dr. G, Colombo, all ran through my head. I dug a hole. As I carried the body to its grave a heard its tags jingle. To this point I didn't know who this innocent victim belonged to. I had to make a decision. Do I look at the tags to positively ID this John/Jane DoeCat or do I not? I chose not. I said a short prayer and buried my furry friend, knowing that I was now an accessory.
And now, as in Edgar Allen Poe's "Tell Tale Heart" the jingling of those tags grow louder and louder in my ears.
A couple of weeks ago Mrs Ozzy went to Colorado for vacation. The plan was for me to meet her out there later in the week. Of course, the original plan was for us to go together, but I forgot that I had to be at work that week for training, so I stayed behind. The original plan was also that my parents-in-law were going to come stay at the house with the boy while we were gone. They are in their mid-seventies, but they are in very good health.
So, Mrs Ozzy leaves on Monday, on Tues morning the two big dogs (husky and akita) disappear. This thing happens all the time and they always come back so I'm not worried. We go to bed Tues night knowing that we would wake up in the morning and the dogs would be back in the garage, wore out.
02:00 Wednesday morning I am awakened by what I would describe as a constant yipping. It was annoying as hell and I knew it had to be my dogs so I got up. It was 40 F and raining. As soon as i stepped into the living room I smelled skunk. I turned the flood lights on and saw the dogs circling an animal they had captured. I went outside where the stench was horrific and watched the pawing this creature and yipping, but it wasn't a skunk as I suspected. It was a cat. Crapola. I could tell the thing was injured, but I couldn't tell the extent of it. I got the dogs into the garage and got a flashlight so i could inspect the victim further.
It was still alive, but not doing too good. It's hind quarters were motionless. I stood in the rain wondering what I should do. I am not a cat lover, but if I owned a cat I wouldn't take it to the vet at 2:00 am, so I'm sure not going to take this one. Anyway, I couldn't leave Jr at home by himself in the middle of the night.
As I stood in the cold darkness, rain hitting the hood of my jacket, I felt as if the world were swirling around me and I was alone. I wanted to do the right thing, but I could see a 4-figure vet bill and an angry neighbor. So, I got my shovel and decided I would examine it yet again. I poked it with the shovel. It definitely showed that it was ready to fight, but still didn't move its rear legs. Since it was so full of fight, I thought I would give it a chance to pull through rather than "put it out of its misery."
I went inside and went to bed, tossing and turning, dreaming of it dragging itself to my neighbors door, only to whisper in its last dying breath that it was the Nelson dogs who did this horrible thing.
I awoke early. Still dark and raining I could see the lifeless body at the edge of the yard. The charges were no longer assault, but murder. Episodes of CSI, Criminal Minds, Law & Order, Quincy, Dr. G, Colombo, all ran through my head. I dug a hole. As I carried the body to its grave a heard its tags jingle. To this point I didn't know who this innocent victim belonged to. I had to make a decision. Do I look at the tags to positively ID this John/Jane DoeCat or do I not? I chose not. I said a short prayer and buried my furry friend, knowing that I was now an accessory.
And now, as in Edgar Allen Poe's "Tell Tale Heart" the jingling of those tags grow louder and louder in my ears.
6 comments:
Note to self: If I'm ever at Ozzy's house and that big honkin' white dog knocks me down, I've gotta remember to move my feet with whatever remaining muscular energy I can muster. Because if its my turn to take a dirt nap, I'd sure like my resting place to me somewhere other than his backyard next to an ever-ringing kitty collar.
You left it in the YARD to die in the rain??????????????????? :!
And where did that other big dog come from?
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Do your neighbors read your blog? Your guilty conscience is gonna give you away.
loose lips sink ships.....
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