Yesterday, in the evening, Angus ran away.
Angus occasionally makes a run for it
when the opportunity arises. (Who left the gate open???).
I got on the motorcycle, yelled his name, and honked the horn, but to
no avail. No Angus.
This must have gone on for hours.
At one point, Lottie came with me on the back of the motorcycle
to search for our delinquent dog.
We came up on a fence line where I needed to turn around, and the
wheel went right into a mound- possibly made by giant ants
hidden under the tall grass
and I dumped the bike with Lottie underneath.
This, however, wasn't just any grass; this was POSIN IVY.
With unknown angels who were probably laughing at me, I somehow
lifted the 270-pound bike up (using my super strong thunder thighs and back)
brushed off the grass, and Lottie and I sped home so she could
get in the shower and scrub the poison ivy off her.
We don't need another PI episode. (That was bad).
We have all heard stories at one time or another –
stories about ordinary people exhibiting superhuman strength during a crisis.
They become heroes by performing extraordinary acts to save someone's life.
These tales often involve people lifting
heavy objects like cars, structural beams, and even helicopters
to free someone who is trapped underneath them.
Ok, this wasn't that bad, but it kind of was in my head at that moment.
Also, I was kind of crying in frustration and worry.
Then, I was sure I would get my P22 and shoot Angus the second he came home.
But then I was like, what if he's dead in a ditch somewhere?
Then I felt bad for thinking of shooting him.
It was just far too many emotions.
Anyway, Angus came trotting back through the gate as the sun was setting.
Needless to say, he slept on the porch.
Tied up.
I've had better days.
