But that doesn’t stop me from being mad and angry with Orso. I know better, in reality it is all my fault, he’s just a dog. I had the best intentions, because I know his history, but I got distracted. That seems to happen more and more these days. I get to blame the drugs, but that doesn’t change the outcome.
We were getting to leave and run some errands, one of the which was to go wine shopping and that alone is enough to make me lose focus. I had taken a package of hamburger out of the freezer and moved it to the refrigerator last night to thaw for dinner. Before we left to go run our errands I checked the hamburger to see how thawed it was. It was still pretty frozen so I took it out of the fridge and started to put it in the microwave, safe from the “Stomach”, but I thought Mitch might heat up a sausage biscuit before we left so I set it on top of the microwave and turned to check on him.
Mitch met me at the laundry room door with the cooler in hand looking for ice packs. I told him they were in the freezer. At that point I forgot all about the pound of hamburger. Squirrel! Orso knew we were getting ready to leave so he was following me around panting heavily and occasionally barking to let me know he was not happy about being left home. Even though I always leave the television on and I always give him a rawhide chew. And finally he is home in the air conditioning with the TV on and the doggie equivalent to a bowl of popcorn, what more could he want?
We drove off, and got about three miles from home sitting at the stoplight waiting to get on the highway when it dawned on me that I left the hamburger out unprotected on top of the microwave. So just to be prudent, we took the next exit, jumped back on the highway, and went home. I jumped out of the truck ran up to the door and unlocked it, Orso met me at the door barking away. I walked to the microwave, no hamburger, I looked inside to check it out, no hamburger. I walked to the living room around the corner from the microwave and saw pieces of Styrofoam, a bit of plastic wrap and no hamburger. It was gone, three miles and ten minutes’ tops and it was gone. Six dollars and ninety-eight cents a pound and it was gone.
I was so angry, madder at myself than him, but that didn’t stop me from yelling at him. That didn’t stop me from wishing all kinds of wrath to fall on him. At the same time, I was holy irate I was also praying that he doesn’t get a blockage from any plastic wrap he probably ingested and then have to take him to the vet and have emergency surgery. That would be the cherry on top, Orso eats our hamburger, gets sick and we have to take him to have surgery.
I need a keeper.