No run today but I have a very good defence. The family dog – Butch - who we inherited years ago and all adore, went missing today because the painters doing my parent’s house left the gate open. They released he was missing at lunch time but in an act of brilliance and in spite of having both parent’s phone numbers, decided not to alert anyone until my mother came home 4 hours later. She was planning on coming straight to me directly from her work, but thankfully, detoured back home because I had asked if I could have Butch for a few days. (I am a bit lonely now Gregory is at work all day and I don’t feel as mad talking to a dog as I do to the couch).
He is a wonderful dog. Thirteen years old, graying with distinction and very easy to love. I’ll admit, he’s not the most attractive thing. He’s a bit low to the ground, has large hips and one floppy ear. But I find that ear endearing. It reminds me of my cow costume in Joseph And The Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. My family picked me out based on the fact that I was the only one onstage with a droopy ear.
We found him, he wandered back up the yard just after mum and I pulled our cars in from scouring the streets to no success. I guess he’s smarter than we all think.
It’s hard to tell if he knew he was missing, he was more snuggly than usual, but he’s a bit of a cuddle whore so it’s hard to tell if he was glad to be home or just lapping up our extra love.
Regardless, for the duration of the painting, we have moved him from his home in the ‘burbs and he is now at his second home in the groovy inner west. Most dogs should be so lucky.
So. I didn’t run. Rather I stopped and started on a walk with Butch while he sniffed and snuffed every tree, bush, pole and fence in the entire Balmain area.
There is no danger of getting fit with a 91-year-old dog around. But boy am I glad he still is.