After I stupidly decided to run errands during rush hour, with two cranky kids after a long day of work...after getting stuck in a sea of red lights...after draining the truck to fumes because I couldn't find a gas station with diesel...after a panic attack and finally, fueling up... after I drove home with our brand new over-priced porch furniture in a torrential rainstorm... after I rolled up at 8:30 with unfed kids and water logged wicker chairs...
...the dog ran off.
Martin didn't say a word. He didn't get a coat. He just fired up the gator and drove off in the inky rain.
Thirty minutes later he returned and almost immediately, Maisie ran off again. Because I failed to barricade the dog door.
Martin set out again in the rain. And eventually found the dog. After getting the gator mired in mud and vines by the river. And after he pushed, rocked and shoved the gator free (while Maisie incessantly barked and taunted him). And after he nearly got attacked by a pissed-off, hissing possum who bared his teeth in anger after the dog collided with it. After that, at 10:45, we shed our wet clothes and ate dinner.
Why Martin stays married or continues living on this crazy farm with this nutty dog is beyond me.
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