That One Day That One Dog Ruined My Plans to Get My St. Patrick's Day Drink On
Do to some seriously lack of drinking lately I was super excited to go to my friend Stephanie's house for St. Patrick's day, or Mardi Gras Part two, as Steph made me cook breakfast again claming that if she had to feed everyone they were going to be eating breakfast bars. To say steph isn't a cook is an understatement which I learned when I asked her for garlic salt and she looked at me with such a lost look in her eyes that I thought for a second her brain had completely shut off and she might be gone forever. She did however make her self useful by cutting five laves of french bread for french toast. Cutting them mind you with knives she just opened fresh from the package because apparently this was the first time in seven months of living there she found herself needing to cut anything. Oh and I guess that part about opening her house for us on this scared day was pretty useful as well.
One thing I have learned about St. Louis is that they love their parades, and more so parades that involve large amounts of drinking going on. Stephanie lives in a part of the city named Dogtown and they have the huge St. Patty's celebration. Some people say the town is named dog town because of the Irish settlers who ate dogs. I am certain this is not true and I even looked up the actual reason of the towns name a bit ago but obviously it wasn't as memorable as picturing my ancient irish ancestors in St. Louis eating dogs.
With breakfast cooked and a few mimosas downed I was well on my way to pants pissing passed out drunk when this little guy ran right off the street and into Toms arms.
I know seriously three lost dogs in three weeks. This has to be some kind of joke. So after giving this dog a stern talking to about how she was really putting a damper on my booze fest we picked her up put her in the car and drove to the pound to see if she was chipped. The pound was less than a mile away but between the parade traffic and dodging drunks in the street it took us almost an hour to get there. Don't worry though we passed the time by yelling every dog name at her we could think of to see what kind of response we would get out of her. We settled on Gumby, because Gumby was green and this was St. Patrick's day oh and I was wearing some cheap ass beaded necklace with big plastic Gumby's on it.
Gumby was not chipped, as I would have guess because we couldn't get that lucky twice in a week. The lady at the pound suggested we leave her there and I suggested she was nuts. Mostly because after seven days the dogs become available for adoption or in most cases available for doggy sleepy meds... the kind where the dog doesn't ever wake up. Also it is against the policy to call us if the owner comes to retrieve the dog. Seven days seems like long enough for the owner to find the dog, unless of corse as I explain to counter lady that thing happens that happened the last time I brought them a dog. The dog was put in the system as a girl collie mix. Which was great and all until owner knocked on my door a few days later (tipped off by a neighbor that said I had his dog) and explained that his dog was not in fact a collie, but a husky and was 100% percent not girl. (that means it was a boy for those of you reading that are not good with math) the guy had been calling the pound for days and not surprisingly not getting anywhere. When I explained this to bitchy counter lady she explained it was the owners job to be a little more proactive. Which I agree and all but I was like "well isn't it also your job to look down below and you know...ummm do a weiner check before you just go deciding that it was a girl and all." And she was like "No." So Gumby and Tom and I left.
Stephanie agreed to keep Gumby for an hour so we could go get some food and figure out how the hell we were going to smash Gumby into our one bedroom apartment with our two other dogs. And how we would deal with it when Henry (the dog) decided to sexualy molest her because Henry is a pervert so it would be inevitable.
And then Steph called and let us know Gumby's owner ran into someone who said we had her and came and got her. And another puppy was saved, and another drinking day was lost, which is ok because I am sure it is just a matter of weeks until this town has another parade to celebrate another foreign holiday! And that time I will wear my I Hate Stray Dogs shirt, and hope they all can read and go find someone else to get them safely home!
One thing I have learned about St. Louis is that they love their parades, and more so parades that involve large amounts of drinking going on. Stephanie lives in a part of the city named Dogtown and they have the huge St. Patty's celebration. Some people say the town is named dog town because of the Irish settlers who ate dogs. I am certain this is not true and I even looked up the actual reason of the towns name a bit ago but obviously it wasn't as memorable as picturing my ancient irish ancestors in St. Louis eating dogs.
With breakfast cooked and a few mimosas downed I was well on my way to pants pissing passed out drunk when this little guy ran right off the street and into Toms arms.
I know seriously three lost dogs in three weeks. This has to be some kind of joke. So after giving this dog a stern talking to about how she was really putting a damper on my booze fest we picked her up put her in the car and drove to the pound to see if she was chipped. The pound was less than a mile away but between the parade traffic and dodging drunks in the street it took us almost an hour to get there. Don't worry though we passed the time by yelling every dog name at her we could think of to see what kind of response we would get out of her. We settled on Gumby, because Gumby was green and this was St. Patrick's day oh and I was wearing some cheap ass beaded necklace with big plastic Gumby's on it.
Gumby was not chipped, as I would have guess because we couldn't get that lucky twice in a week. The lady at the pound suggested we leave her there and I suggested she was nuts. Mostly because after seven days the dogs become available for adoption or in most cases available for doggy sleepy meds... the kind where the dog doesn't ever wake up. Also it is against the policy to call us if the owner comes to retrieve the dog. Seven days seems like long enough for the owner to find the dog, unless of corse as I explain to counter lady that thing happens that happened the last time I brought them a dog. The dog was put in the system as a girl collie mix. Which was great and all until owner knocked on my door a few days later (tipped off by a neighbor that said I had his dog) and explained that his dog was not in fact a collie, but a husky and was 100% percent not girl. (that means it was a boy for those of you reading that are not good with math) the guy had been calling the pound for days and not surprisingly not getting anywhere. When I explained this to bitchy counter lady she explained it was the owners job to be a little more proactive. Which I agree and all but I was like "well isn't it also your job to look down below and you know...ummm do a weiner check before you just go deciding that it was a girl and all." And she was like "No." So Gumby and Tom and I left.
Stephanie agreed to keep Gumby for an hour so we could go get some food and figure out how the hell we were going to smash Gumby into our one bedroom apartment with our two other dogs. And how we would deal with it when Henry (the dog) decided to sexualy molest her because Henry is a pervert so it would be inevitable.
And then Steph called and let us know Gumby's owner ran into someone who said we had her and came and got her. And another puppy was saved, and another drinking day was lost, which is ok because I am sure it is just a matter of weeks until this town has another parade to celebrate another foreign holiday! And that time I will wear my I Hate Stray Dogs shirt, and hope they all can read and go find someone else to get them safely home!
posted by KatieLauren at
8:59 PM
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