Which would be worse? I asked my husband when I got him on the phone on my way to Hobby Lobby, Leaving the demon in the car with the window cracked even though it’s, like, a hundred degrees, or leaving the demon in the car with the engine running and the air conditioning on full-blast? My husband sighed. I think, he said, That you should have left the demon at home. But I didn’t, I say, And so now I need to know which is worse, leaving him to the heat or leaving the engine running. You need to leave the engine running, my husband said, Or someone’s going to smash the window to get him out.
And so when I got to Hobby Lobby I reached into my handbag for my extra key
and I shut off the engine and restarted it with my extra key and I made sure the air conditioning was blowing right into the demon’s giant ears.
And then I got out of the car and I used my keyless remote to lock the doors. Except the doors wouldn’t lock, maybe because the engine was running. I tried, like, ten times before I gave up and just threw a little prayer to the gods that no one would come along and steal the demon because that wouldn’t be any fun to explain to The Boy. And then I ran into Hobby Lobby and grabbed a plain white tee shirt so The Boy would have one for tie-dying day at his new school and I shifted from one nervous foot to the other while I waited in line to pay and then after I finally paid I ran out to the parking lot where, fortunately, the demon was still in the front seat, barking his little ass off at the passerby.
That night my husband and I were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, trying to have a conversation above the din of the three dogs. I hate those goddamn dogs, my husband muttered. No, you don’t, I told him. We both looked at the demon, whose teeth were sunk into the big white dog’s drumstick of a leg. The big white dog’s trainer says the big white dog is eager to please, I said, I bet he could even be a seeing eye dog. He’d have to be able to walk past another dog without attacking it, my husband reminded me.
Then he scooped up the demon, who also seems incapable of walking past other dogs without attacking. Why, just the other night we decided to go on a walk, though we had to leave the big white dog at home because no one can handle him on a leash, even after all those training sessions. The Boy held the skinny beagle’s leash and my husband held the demon’s leash and we were rounding a corner near our house when up bounded a fluffy, blonde dog. She ran all friendly-like right up to the skinny beagle, who froze in her tracks because she’s so used to being attacked. But the demon yanked himself right out of his leash and jumped onto the unsuspecting intruder with his mouth wide open and snarling. So it appears that we have two testosterone-laden dogs who can’t be left to their own devices around the ladies.
Seeing my husband with the demon reminded me of my excursion to Hobby Lobby. I left the demon in the car with the air conditioner running, I said, I couldn’t lock the doors but no one stole him after all. Jennifer, my husband said, Tell me that you didn’t leave the car running with the doors unlocked.
It took me a good five seconds to understand what he meant. Ohhh, I said, Someone could’ve stolen the car. I would’ve been too humiliated to report the crime, he said.
I’ve had many of these momentary lapses of reasons lately. Two hundred twelve days in an eight-year-old’s company will do that to you. But The Boy has started a new school and after so much time I’m back, baby! I’m back!
Now if I could just remember how to publish a blog post . . .
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