Moongazing.
Who’s the pussy in that video, I ask you? Poor Ferdinand. I think his residual fear of Taco has severely overshadowed his once-affection for kitties. Mario couldn’t have given two shits about the monkeydog in the house. Ferdinand gave him a wide berth.
In fact, he gave us all a wide berth at times. My time came at a particularity inopportune moment: 2:40am on Friday night. I’ve mentioned before that my little feller likes to moongaze. He’s always let himself out in the middle of the night to have a moment under the stars. A bit of a romantic, I’d say. Anyway, his moment struck and I sleepily got up to let him out Minde’s back door, while I waited for him by the steps. He rustled a bit in the garden, and then all of a sudden I couldn’t hear him anymore! Being nearly three in the morning, I didn’t want to start yelling “Ferdinand!!” in Minde’s quiet sleeping neighborhood. But Minde’s yard is also unfenced, and moongazing and wandering go hand in hand.
So I stumbled through her garden - barefoot, in my underwear, blind - shout-hissing “Monkey! Come here!” until I was standing in some rocks in her neighbors yard. No Ferdinand. Not that I could see anyway, in the dark, with no contacts or glasses on. I stood silently for a minute, hoping to hear some faint grunting. Nope. I thought about going in the house and waking up Scott to help me look, but I had no idea how far he’d wander while I was inside. I turned around and ran around the house to the front, (yes, still in my underwear) to see if he’d gone up there. I was beginning to have flashbacks of the time when Ferdinand’s wandering bought him an inadvertent overnight at a neighbors’, while we filed a stolen dog report with the police. Suddenly, a motion detection light went on next door. I rounded the corner and there he was, sniffing the air, sitting on their patio, bathed in the yellow glow of a halogen emergency bulb.
And that is the story of how I came to run around Minde’s neighborhood in my panties. Oh, I’m so proud. And he’s so contrite:
How can I stay angry at a butterball like that? And, really, who am I kidding? I’ve run around neighborhoods in my panties for way worse reasons.
Next: Marriage.
