Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Into Thin Air: A Hogie Tale

Yesterday at 3 p.m. I locked our front door.  "We are not leaving the house again today!  Nobody moves!" (Tim is on hiatus this week and we didn't have anywhere specifically we needed to be on a Monday night but I wasn't even going to let him out to go to the store.  It was that kind of a day.)  After I made sure we were all three accounted for, I pulled a Reese's Peanut Butter cup out of the bowl of Halloween candy currently residing on top of our fridge and ate it in one bite.  Then I took a breath.  A deep fucking breath, you guys.

Holy crap, where do I even start?

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a bit are guessing (or hoping) that I'm about to tell you a Hogie story.  And yes, rest assured, I'M ABOUT TO TELL YOU A HOGIE STORY.  What else, right?  But, before I even get to the part about good ole' Hogan McSmalls, let me preface it by saying that Tim and I started the day over at our friends' new house waiting for their new bed to be delivered.  We were standing around talking when the kitchen flooded.  Yes, the kitchen flooded.  As in water everywhere.  As in whatthehell.  The washing machine out on the porch wasn't properly connected so water spilled out all over their newly tiled floor.  So, we spent a good part of the day mopping and squeegee-ing and putting down towels and laughing about how crazy it was that it flooded.  We got it all cleaned up and the bed came so we drove to lunch in my little Fit, which was making weird jerky transmission problem-like noises.  I was sad.  I love my car.  I don't want to have to take it to the mechanic.

So, yeah, crazy day but nothing out of the ordinary.   I mean, just small easily fixed annoyances.  Life stuff, right?

But then we got home and our dog was missing.  Gone.  Not there.  Vanished.  The front door was closed and locked.  The patio door was closed.  No signs of a struggle or of Hogie mischief.  (To read up on Hogie mischief, check out this old blog.  Ugh.) Everything was literally exactly like we left it.  Except for the fact that our dog had somehow disappeared.

After we'd checked in closets and under beds and in the shower and under tables, I freaked myself out when I noticed the locked door to the basement.  Look, it's Halloween week and while I'm pretty sure I don't believe in ghosts, I'd been talking to my friend about The Conjuring at brunch just the day before so a glance at a basement door and a missing dog were enough to make my skin feel prickly. I'd also told him how a lamp went on by itself while I was sleeping the other night and how the desktop on my computer changed itself from a really cute picture of a deer to a stock Apple photo of space.  I joked that either our house was haunted by a techie ghost with a sense of humor or my computer spazzed out and there was a weird fuse thing.  Not to be all hippie dippy on you guys but I've never felt a bad vibe in this place.  On the contrary, it's very calm and peaceful and relaxing.  So, there is no part of me that thinks the new place is haunted.

Except for the part where my dog vanished into thin air.

We talked to the neighbors and found out that Hogie had been out on the balcony barking and crying but the door was closed behind him so they thought we left him out there.  We did not leave him out there.  We left him inside giving us guilt face for not taking him with us. The balcony door was closed.  I felt a bit better, knowing that nothing supernatural had occurred.  The balcony isn't really that high off the ground and Hogie's done worse in the past so I figured he was roaming around the neighborhood.  I knew we'd find him.

And, you know, we did.  So, whew.  Some nice lady found him and put him in the backseat of her truck and was driving around looking for his owners.  But how did he get out on the balcony to begin with??  The only explanation I could come up with was that someone had a key to our place and was letting him or herself in and just messing with us.  Changing desktops, putting dogs on balconies but not stealing anything.  Sure.  Why not?  Good one, Kendra.  THAT MAKES SENSE.

But, since that absolutely does not make any sense, obviously what happened is that the balcony door wasn't locked like we thought it was.  Clearly our smart little fuzzy burrito opened the door with his paws, went out on the balcony and the door blew closed behind him.  That has to be it.  Because that's what Hogie does.  He uses drawers as steps to get on counters.  He removes screens from windows so he can walk out onto roofs and trot around performing for the neighborhood.  He knocks over trashcans and opens food storage containers that boast they are "pet proof."  He figures things out.  He's a smart fuzzy little MacGyver (without the cool feathered hair, of course).

When we first bought our condo, Hogie locked himself in the back bathroom and howled for hours while we were at a party.  Six years later, we were still getting shit about it from some of the neighbors. So, I guess every time we move, the dog's gonna pull a stunt. But, I'm not even mad at him.  I will never forget how I felt when we couldn't find him.  I was scared shitless.  I felt like I'd never breathe again.   I'm just so glad we found him and he's okay.

Also glad I'm not in The Conjuring.  Ohmygawd that doll.

*Photo I made of Hogie getting taken off by a T-Rex, which is just as likely as what happened, right?