I had gone back to the office after doing a few things at home that evening. I spent about 1/2 hour at the office. While I was there, I was telling everyone that Timba had been missing since the early morning when I let her out. I had to rush to the office that morning at 9:00 for a meeting. It was to be 45 degrees today, so I figured I'd let Timba stay out all day, and it's never been necessary to tie her up. I came home at 3:00 to do some work there and spend time with Hobes. No sign of Timba. We go for a walk looking for her and everything. I work at home until around 7:00. Then, I go to the office. As I'm driving to the office, I think: "I wonder if she got picked up by the dog officer?' and "I wonder if she is DEAD in a snow bank somewhere." (I never put the dog tags on the dogs, even though I have them... just a weird quirk of mine).
When I get to the office, I call a neighbor, who has been home sick all day. No, he has not seen Timba all day. Then, I called the Spencer Police Dept to get the number of the dog officer. They took a message for the dog officer and said she'd call me back within the hour. I rush home so I can take the call. At 9:20, the dog officer calls. Sure enough, she has Timba. That'll be forty dollars, please. $20 for violating the leash law; and $20 impounding fee. Oy. Ok, what's $40 for my loveable mutt?
Only problem is, just minutes before, I realized that I had left both my wallet AND my keys to the office on the desk where I had stopped to make the call to the police dept! Off I go back to the office to pick up my wallet before the building closes at 10:00. Thank goodness it was early enough, otherwise I wouldn't be able to get in because my key to the building was also there!
The dog officer wants me to pick up Timba tonight. I ask her: "how did this happen? did someone complain about Timba?" Yes, a neighbor called this morning to complain that three dogs were in his yard. Timba, Pushkin and C.J. (She actually named them all!! I thought that was very funny.) These dogs OWN the neighborhood. They are all over 10 years old. The neighbor tells the dog officer that he has a little girl who is afraid of dogs, and he doesn't want dogs in his yard, and he "doesn't like dogs."
I pile Hobes into the car, a load of dog biscuits in my pocket. I rush to the office (by this time it is nearly quarter of ten). Of course, I must tell everyone there what happened, so there goes another 10 minutes.
Then, I have to find this remote horse farm in Spencer, in the dark. Thankfully, I know the back roads very well. I pretty much knew where the place was, but it was very dark. I found it with no problem. I get there, and the lady lets me in to her house which smells horrifically of cat urine (and I thought my house was bad!). She has THIRTY (count 'em) THIRTY cats. The place is swarming. Nice house, too. She has an 11 year old black lab, just like Timba. We had a very nice chat. I paid her the $40, she gave me an official form from the town saying I was a bad girl. "First offense".
Now we must drive over to the barn to get the dog. Off I go. Now remember Hobes is in the car. (I should write a book!). Hobes always has to be on a leash, otherwise he will run away. I pull up to the barn, and I can't find the officer anywhere (she walked). I walk into the barn and there are another 20 cats. One of them, I swear was our Charlie who disappeared a couple years ago, under the assumption that he'd been eaten by coyotes. I didn't bother persuing that. A horse was poking its nose at me. I yell out: "Hello?" No answer. Now I am getting creeped out. I walk around the outside of the barn and try a few doors, thinking maybe I've gone to the wrong place. Just when I think "I'm gonna get back into the car, this is creepy," out she comes with Timba on a leash.
Yes, I identify Timba, who is so disoriented she has no clue who I am, and certainly no idea where she is. I tell the officer that the trick will be to get Timba into the car, since she hasn't had a ride in the car since the last time she went to the vet last June, right after we got Hobie. The other trick is to keep Hobie from running away. Well, so much for that! As soon as I grab Hobie's leash, he bolts out of the car. So now I have him on one leash in my left hand, and Timba on another on the right. The officer is trying to help me guide Timba towards the car. Timba is completely disoriented and confused. Hobie spies a cat sitting in the barn door, and he runs, thus pulling me to the left, hard. Timba comes with me, dragging on the ground. I slip on a patch of ice and I fall. Miraculously, I still am holding both leashes. I was literally pulled in both directions. My shoulder and hip are bruised. The officer asks if I am all right. Yes, I am fine. She takes Timba and picks her up and puts her in the car. What a concept. I drag Hobie away from the cat, and he jumps right into the car to be with his pal, Timba.
Oh, it's not over yet... just as I'm leaving and telling the officer that I wish I could have met her under better circumstances, another "offender" pulls up with two huge dogs. I got the heck out of there, quick! I tell ya, if I had a free moment, I would volunteer at the dog officer's farm. She seems to need HELP!
Off we go, back down Rt 31 towards home. Timba is still confused. Hobie is panting like mad. While driving, Hobie goes into the back seat to be with Timba. Then I see him climbing all the way into the "way-back" of the station wagon. "What the hell are you doing?" I say. Then, I smell it. Timba has taken a dump in the car! Could this get any worse??? I have to drive and smell the poop the whole way home. Hobie will not come back into the main part of the car!
I get them home, and toss them both in the basement. Timba, of course, wanted to go for a walk and started down the road. NO WAY! She would not come in the house. I finally got her in by bringing Hobie in first. Locked them both in the basement, and went outside to clean up the poop.
I still have finished my work on the computer for the night. By the time I get washed up and get the dogs settled down, it is ten minutes of eleven. I swear, I am writing a book. The Adventures of Timba and Hobie. Thank goodness Timba is OK. All I wanted tonight was to watch the Bon Jovi concert on TV and work on the computer. A nice quiet evening at home.
Above photo, Timba, age 17, in 2000.
All original material copyright © Kathleen S. Mueller. All rights reserved.