Jason O'Day: I've got no patience for kids, especially runaways!
—Escape to Witch Mountain (1975)
My morning routine usually involves taking Wee One to school, then coming back home for a few minutes of relaxation and perhaps a cup of tea before heading out to my own job.
As I said, “usually”. Today was the exception.
This morning was also Trash Day in my neighborhood, and for whatever reason we had more than the usual complement of refuse this week. The bags were full of dry, relatively light materials, so we kept them indoors so they wouldn’t blow away with all the winds we’d had lately. So this morning I grabbed up the bags and pushed out through the front door. And right behind me, one of the dogs, the small white one, boogied outside and up the street toward Harford Road.
This dog has a habit of doing this sort of thing, and frankly I’m tired of it. My attitude toward most of the pets is: “My job is to pet the animal”, so training and chasing ain’t in that job description, thank you very much. And the hell of it is, in almost any other situation he’ll come when you call him. But when he gets out the front door, he’s Gone, Baby, Gone.
I simply turned to Wee One and told her, “He went thataway.” She ran outside to find him. A few minutes later she came back crying; she couldn’t find him. Sigh. Get in the car, kid.
Thirty minutes later, we gave up. I dropped Wee One off at school, a half-hour late. Fortunately, the principal was also getting to school late and walked her into the building. I still had something to pick up from home, so I stopped back in and called one of my co-workers to let her know what had happened, and to tell everyone that I was on my way to the meeting.
So naturally, as soon as I hung up and opened the front door to leave, there he was sitting on the porch, the little rat bastard.