(this is a rambly post, so it’ll probably be dull)
Last July – barely a month after we adopted him – Gene and his brother and the boy went on a boy’s road trip. MIL, SIL and I went to an Indian casino town near the TN border. Scooby went to puppy prison.
He had to – Don Henley was in town, and well…I wasn’t going to miss THAT.
As I said, we’d barely had Scoob an entire month before we had to board him for DAYS. And what’s worse, I didn’t know there were such magical places as the place we board him now, so I put him where my parents had always boarded Max I and II – the vet’s office.
Since it’s been nearly a year, I don’t remember much about this, but I think that’s also because I blocked out so much of it. The entire drive to the vet’s office I tilted the rearview mirror so I could see Scooby, who never liked car rides. And I wept. Like someone had just broken my leg. I got him dropped off – “Did you bring any toys or treats??” they asked. I had absolutely no clue. The last time I saw him, they were dragging him back to the crappy vet’s office kennels using those crappy slipknot leashes and I grabbed a tissue and headed out to the car. Alone. I drove home, again, weeping like someone had broken now my OTHER leg and I went home and — dammit! — I packed my suitcase for my trip to the Indian casino (forgetting about 1/2 of what I needed, including my toothbrush and shampoo) and I packed a bag for Scooby, with his Kong and some of the stuffed animals that have since bit the dust (we didn’t know Booper then, but we know her now and she is one destructive beagle). I cried off and on on my way to the vet’s then to MIL’s and I proceeded to talk about Scooby the ENTIRE weekend (Saturday-Monday July 5th), taking only one break.
For Henley, of course! To close my eyes and remember those good old days when he was hot and I was jailbait…err, I mean, thin.
After the concert, it was all in the waiting to go home. MIL wanted to show SIL and I a Native American show that – drat! – isn’t performed on Sundays, making it necessary for us to stay until Tuesday so we could see the show on Monday night. And when it rained on Monday, cancelling the Native American show, I was so royally pissed off. “I could be with my DOG NOW!” And trust me – the Indian casino hotel prices on the 4th of July holiday weekend are NOT CHEAP. And they are also NOT GOOD.
So I’m saying all of this because Sunday is the first anniversary since we brought home our boy Scoobert Alexander D. (Alexander because that is kind of BIL’s name and we never thought he’d have a kid to pass it down to. Hmm, we were wrong). That first night, Gene went to poker and I was home alone with the dog, staring at him and thinking “Dammit, Gene, I wanted a BABY not a DOG!” And not even a month later, I cried because he had to go to Puppy Prison. And a year later, I had to stop typing midway through this and go hold my Scooby, Scoobert, ScoobyDoobyDoo, Berty-boy because remembering all of that made me want to be close to the original article.
I’m also nostalgic for the Henley show – he’s going to be in Hotlanta with Stevie Nicks next week and I’m trying to talk Gene into going. I mean…jesus christ, that’s a show for me! I mean, I totally believe Henley’s in weak voice – did you see the special on NBC last week? – but, nevertheless, I’d love to go see it.