My children are heart broken.
How they will sleep tonight without their beloved K-9 companion is beyond comprehension.
My son is standing outside at this very moment scattering bits of scooby snacks in the front yard, voice cracking, tears streaming calling for his BFF. The one million thousand silent prayers Ive repeated over and over in my head this afternoon plead for Zelda's safe return to her rightful spot at the end of his plastic race car bed. The "googies" will be back tonight (or so I have been warned) if Zelda does not make an appearance before bedtime prayers.
I'm not sure what to do. I have cuddled, comforted, and soothed my children into a diabetic comma hoping to lift their precious little spirits. Yellow and pink marshmallow peeps litter the kitchen counter. My secret stash of peanut M&M's didn't even put a dent in the worry little Haley J has written all over that adorable toddler face. "Deeelda...Deeelda" she sings running from empty room to empty room investigating every drawer, closet, and unattended toilet hoping to find our family's favorite companion lapping up her favorite doggy night cap.
We are in full panic mode here folks!
What my children don't know is that I think, by some karma ridden after thought, I may have brought this tragedy upon us. I'm not saying I pushed her out the front door myself! (As a matter of fact, Zelda escaped through an open gate thanks to the return of the inconsiderate repair man.) This afternoon, as I scraped the last remains of my toothbrush from Zelda's greedy little paws, I found myself wishing that we had sent her back to the pound where she came from. I found myself thinking that this could be someone else right now cleaning up vomit. I was angry to say the least. To completely understand my woes you'll have to know how we acquired Zelda. It all started with my husband's new friend "D" (name has been changed for his own protection--because after this story you'll want to kick him in his man parts too!)
The whole reason we have Zelda is because of Jeremy's new friend. D works with Jeremy and is basically attached to his boot strings. Lets just face it, everybody loves Jeremy. My husband has a certain likability about him and its extremely hard not to fall in love with that delicious southern accent. That being said you should also know that D is the exact opposite. His arrogant, immature, unsavory attitude make it imposable to stand next him for more then 5 seconds. No joke. I'm really trying to be nice here.
Do you remember the guy you went to high school with that wasn't happy unless he was crushing some one's self-esteem? The guy who liked to spread rumors about innocent, upstanding girls just to see how long he could keep everyone thinking it was true? Flash forward however many years and here you have D unchanged, unremorseful, and unrefined. Long story short: D is a major tool. So, why is Jeremy friends with him you may ask? Because Jeremy is a great guy. He leads by example and hopes that by extending his friendship to D he will indeed find and repair friendships with others. At least this is my conclution. Its either that or I married one of those crazy back woods southerners. Your call.
We, as a family, took D in inviting him into our home for family dinners and what not. That all changed when he picked our son as his new target. He taunted our 4 year old calling him a wiener and taking cheap shots while he pretended to karate chop and punch his way to our son's ultimate humiliation. As most pre-schoolers do, Riley cried for his mother. Unfazed by my constant and enraged requests to leave the poor boy alone, D continued well into the night. His comments and suggestions about my son's sexuality only got worse. Things escalated from there and D made a rushed exit from Casa De McBride, right before my foot made contact with his ass.
He made an appearance the next day full of apologies, regrets, and Zelda the Wonder Dog as a peace offering. (Didn't see that one coming did ya?)
OK, what just happened here?
I'll tell you what happened...I got hosed!
We WERE NOT planning on a dog for at least another 6 months. I had it all planned out in my mind: We would do our research, rescue the perfect dog and we would do it together as a family.
A family. NOT D's poor excuse for acceptance and forgiveness!
I mean, who the hell does something like that?
My children were ecstatic. D was now the best thing since snack packs and string cheese! How could I tell them no? D was the evil one not me! We had just finished our big move from Oregon to Arizona and Riley was ripped from everything and everyone he had ever known and loved. How was I going to tell my precious 4 year old that this completely inappropriate gift was not going to take up residence and would have to be returned to doggy hell (aka the pound)? No. I wasn't about to be banished to mean mommy island. Not for this. NO WAY!
So, Zelda the Wonder Dog became a McBride. She has turned out to be the most gentle creature I have ever come into contact with. We love Zelda. The kids love Zelda. I love Zelda. This fact alone is the only reason D continues eat his scrambled eggs with a fork and not through a straw. Sure, Zelda has her moments. But those moments are soon forgotten when she sticks that wet nose of hers through the bars of Haley's crib to reassure her that she is not alone. She is a protector of babes, Riley's super-hero side kick, and my comforter on lonley nights. Zelda understands the way our family is glued together and knows when to remind us of such important things. Crazy hu? Who wudda guessed?
Pray for Zelda folks.
Zelda, if you're out there, come home baby.