Underground (Puppy) Railroad.

Yesterday, I became a conductor on the underground puppy railroad. I know, I know — there’s a huge difference between freeing a human from slavery and freeing a puppy from years of abuse, but I really *did* end up having to smuggle those damned puppies out of my backyard, into my car, and across the bridges into Border State.

I’d say it was a bit traumatic, but at least the puppies didn’t shit in my car.

But, let’s beginning with Thursday night. First there was the fact that the pups (who I will call Waylon and Dolly* for this blog entry) smelled like the ass end of a hog. I did manage to wash Waylon in the backyard, but then he decided to dig a big ol’ hole and sit in it. Dolly wouldn’t come near me when I had the hose on, so she was beyond skany when The Coach came home. Now, the Coach doesn’t have a sense of smell — seriously, he can tolerate the smell of sour milk, rotten eggs, and cat piss — but he even agreed that Waylon and Dolly were stannnn-kkkky. We searched the whole house for flea shampoo, and finding none, we broke out a bottle of Herbal Essences.

At first, I thought we were going to have a real problem getting the dogs in the laundry sink, but after they realized that The Coach was a nice man who wasn’t going to beat the shit out of them, they capitulated. After the pups were clean and dry, we left them with some rugs to sleep on, another big bowl of food, and an even bigger bowl of water. I swear, those poor, half-starved puppies ate more dog food in one day than I have seen Breathe of Death and Black Plague of Death eat in a week. And, yeah, I should have known better, seeing how I worked for a vet’s office when I was in high school. Between all the water they drank and all the food they ate, the pups had explosive diarrhea all over my basement. That did not make for a good Friday morning.

Anyways, to jump forward with the tail tale {ha, ha! how punny!}, I left work early on Friday to buy new collars and leashes for Waylon and Dolly because I didn’t want them getting free when I put them in the car. I got home, took a nap, and then got ready to go to the football game. Before I managed to leave, this rather loud car pulls up in front of the house and two women get out. They wander over to the apartment and you’ll never guess who comes out. Yep, the white trash redneck mother fucker was back. He pointed at me and went inside.

I’m thinking, oh crap, maybe those pups weren’t his to liberate.
Maybe, the pups actually belonged to Little Miss Cheater Pants?

Here I am, standing on the porch with these two women coming at me. One of them had to have been Little Miss Cheater Pants and the other one really looked like The Woman of Considerable Size. So, the big gal asks if I have the pups. I replied that, yes, the guy gave me the dogs, that they hadn’t been feed for two days, and that my husband found them a home.

“But, I can take the dogs,” she said. My first thought was “Yeah, right. I don’t fucking think so.” Of course, I didn’t say this outloud. Instead, I said: “Oh my. The puppies were really, really sick. They had violent diarrhea all over the basement. I don’t think you really want them back. Plus, my husband — he’s a school teacher down in Kentucky — already found them homes on a couple of farms.”

Fortunately, Little Miss Cheater Pants told her friend that this was really for the best. They loaded themselves back in the car and drove off. Crisis averted. But, I was super careful to sneak out the back door with the puppies just in case they came back. And I was able to breathe again when I hit the state line.

Needless to say, we made it to the football game and both of the new owners were waiting for me at the gate! The teacher who took Waylon had already bought the pup some bones and a bed. I have never seen a grown man so damned happy to have a dog. He promptly renamed the dog after a country music singer (not Waylon) and paraded him around the stands for the rest of the night. The kid who took Dolly was also pretty happy and promise he’d take good care of her. I am feeling pretty damned pleased with myself.

Now, I just hope the guy doesn’t decide to burn down our house. {snort}

* Yes, that would be Waylon Jennings and Dolly Parton. If you read the whole blog entry, then you know where the idea for the pseudonyms came from …