Mush, You Varmints, Mush!

My first mistake was thinking that the window guy was coming at 1 p.m. to measure the dormer windows upstairs. I had a nagging feeling that I might have made a mistake when I put that time on the calendar last week but my hubby had caught me napping at the computer when he called to inform me of the upcoming appointment. I was still a little groggy when he told me what time the guy would be coming over but I really thought he had said 1.

That left me plenty of time to run to the bank this morning and then on to the post office. From there I decided to take a quick detour over to the grocery store to see if they had my favorite detergent. I successfully sidestepped the donut aisle, got sucked in by the cake table in the back and then made a mad dash to the cash register with a peanut butter frosted cake under one arm and the “prophetically titled” Gain detergent under the other arm.

From there it was just a short hop, skip, and a jump back to the house. My mouth was already salivating over that peanut butter frosting as I drove down our street and toward the house. Horrors! There was a strange car in the driveway and it was only 11:30 a.m. The window guy was already here and waiting.

“Sorry,” I breathlessly shouted as I pushed the garage door opener on the fly as I darted out of the car. “I thought you were coming at 1.”

“No, I was supposed to be here at noon so I’m actually a little early,” he replied, following me into the garage.

“Look, you’ll have to stay right here for just a minute while I corral the dogs,” I ordered and squeezed in the side door before my canine protector could charge outside.

“Fresca,” I shouted in my best command voice, “Come here. Stop that barking! Schatze, get over here.”

Schatze is Fresca’s best friend and we’re dogsitting her while her humans are away on vacation. She’s pretty harmless but she’s loud. Fresca, on the other hand, is loud AND protective so I don’t like to take any chances with that furball.

“Fresca, get downstairs RIGHT NOW!” She flew past me and I managed to head her off at the hallway and funnel her down the basement steps. Schatze took one look at the basement, looked at me as if to say, “Yeah, right” and flew into the living room and my husband’s favorite chair, ready to stand lookout. “Divide and conquer,” I thought and headed down to the basement where I did my best Dog Whisperer impression and finally manhandled Fresca into the back room and got the door shut. I could tell by the din that she wasn’t too pleased but both entrances into the back room were shut so Fresca was safely out of play.

I ran back upstairs and headed over to Schatze who decided this was a new game of Tag, leaping off the chair and between my legs before I could say “Stay” and the chase was on. Little dogs are quick. “Schatze,” I thundered, “Get over here. ” I pointed to the guestroom door and drew myself up to my full “Mistress of My Domain” height. She looked at me with big eyes and then I swear to you, she stomped her foot and tried to dart past me. She was quick but I was quicker and I had her signed, sealed, and delivered to that bedroom before she could say “Ruff.”

I dimly became aware that the phone was ringing and I wearily grabbed it on my way back to the garage door. It was my dear husband calling to tell me that the window guy was going to be there early. At least I think he was telling me that because I could barely hear him with the dogs barking. “Thanks,” I snarled. “He’s been out in the garage for the past 10 minutes while I’ve been trying to get the dogs corralled.” George knows when to cut and run. “OK, bye!” was all he said.

I finally got the poor window guy into the house and up to the top floor to do the measuring. “You can take off that curtain if you need to,” I told him. “It’s on a pressure…..” Rowwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrr! I suddenly heard a commotion that seemed to be a lot closer than the basement. “Holy cow,” I blurted, “I think one of the dogs is out.”

I flew out of the room, slamming the door shut on the poor guy. As I headed down the stairs, a white streak was heading up in full voice. Fresca had somehow gotten one of the basement doors open and was on her way to do battle.

“Hold it right there!” I screeched. “You are a BAD GIRL, Fresca Porterfield. Get down here this instant.” She reversed direction, still barking up a storm, and flashed past me. “To heck with the basement,” I thought, and grabbed her ruff and guided her into the guestroom where she joined her cohort in crime.

I was just heading up the stairs to tell the fellow that the dogs were shut up again when he peeked around the corner. “I’m all done measuring,” he said. “I’ll send the estimate in the mail. I’ll just go back out through the garage, if that’s ok?” And he beat a hasty retreat. It was probably the fastest service call I’d ever experienced.

“OK, you varmints, you can come out now,” I said as I opened the guestroom door. Two furry bodies streaked past me yapping in soprano and uber-soprano. They raced to the front windows and checked to make sure the offender was gone. He was. Then they calmly walked to their beds and sat down like two little angels. Mission accomplished!


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