Take 'Em Out Igor

I don't use foul language often, but you don't know how hard it was to not put the word 'fuck' in the title of this post.  I had to count to ten first.  A little trick I picked up a couple of months ago.

Fact:  Howard and Moira take exactly 296 Disney vacations per year.

Fact:  Their daughter, Sammy, misses approximately 1745 days of school per year for said vacations, because she still believes it's real.

Fact:  They are currently on their way to Spain to hop a Disney Cruise ship for a two week sail across the Atlantic.

Fact:  They left their dog, Alfalfa, with a friend, who also has a dog. 

This morning I got a voice mail from Howard.  The two dogs did not get along.  Alfalfa is now home.  By himself.  For two weeks.  So if I wouldn't mind, could I feed him and let him out and such?  If not, it's no big deal.

Are you frakking kidding me?

If not, it's no big deal?

What kind of people treat their dog like this?  And the sad part is, Alfalfa is the best part of the whole family.

So I go over immediately to see how he is.  I'm not a dog person, but come on!  The house, as you might expect, is filthy.  A sheen of grease covers the floor.  There are dirty clothes hanging out of the washing machine.  Used dishes on the counter and in the sink.  Dog food (at least there was some) scattered everywhere.  And, to top it all off, all of their outdoor furniture is now inside and hurricane shutters cover the windows.  Howard, in his paranoia, has taken these precautions in case a storm pops up while he's gone.  But only for the back of the house.  I, along with now caring for the dog, am expected to secure the rest of his house. 

So I bring the dog over to my backyard for some R&R and, although practically blind, he immediately manages to find some raccoon poop, or some kind of poop.  I'm no expert.  Animals don't go in my yard.  They know better.  At least they did.  Now they're conspiring against me because Alfalfa went straight for it and took a bath in it.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?@?#!

I would have sent him home like that, but, as the default caregiver, I don't want to deal with still more crap.  So I hosed the dog off and washed his collar.

I sincerely hope no storm comes ashore while they are gone.  First, because I don't want to deal with it.  Second because Howard already has, and it would please me to think all his work was for nothing. 

Now, I can't blame Howard for his friend being an arse, but the idea I should now be responsible for Alfalfa pisses me off.  There is a storm out there.  Hurricane Igor is so massive, I envision it encompassing the entire Atlantic Ocean just as the S.S. Mickey Mouse sets sail.

This is my dream.  I know it is cruel, but that's what happens when I'm driven to swear.

Oh, and when they get back, Sammy gets held back a year in school.