It was a hot summer’s day in Southern California. One of those 100-degree days that come only twice a year in San Diego and one that begs you stay indoors if at all possible. Because my house didn’t have air conditioning and was built in the 1950s with inadequate insulation, I had positioned myself in the darkest room of the house, the bedroom, with the ceiling fan on high and two mobile fans pointed directly towards my face. Despite my nakedness and my attempts to exert as little energy as possible, I was dripping sweat and my makeup slid off my face just as quickly as I applied it. Resolving to take my makeup to work and reapply later, I dressed and was ready to escape the sauna. I let my audacious Jack Russell Terrier out to use the restroom before I left, not bothering to join her in the heat. Unfortunately for me, when I went to check on her 2 minutes later, she was gone. I called her name to which she always responds obediently, but this time she didn’t come running. Five minutes later I begrudgingly set out to find her. 30 minutes later I was still looking. I called my boyfriend in a panic, but he quickly calmed my nerves by suggesting I check the neighbors’ backyard where I was relieved to find her, hanging with her new over-sized friend, Rocky, a 130 plus pound Bullmastiff. How she made her way over that fence I never figured out, but that was the least of my worries. The neighbors weren’t home, so I made the decision to let myself in the back gate to retrieve my curious canine. Big mistake. Huge mistake. Rocky bulldozed his way through me and the gate, and set out on what proved to be an extended game of chase. I tackled him just a few houses down, thanking God he wasn’t ferocious, and dragged him back to his house for the first time. He bulldozed me again and this time took me on a guided tour through the neighborhood. A few streets away now, he made a beeline for a random backyard and its open gate. I quickly followed thinking I’d finally found a way to corner him and make victory mine, but as I approached, the voice of an old woman startled me.
“Who’s?! Get the hell outta here!” She was rude.
I instinctively ducked down fearing I might be shot, all the while forgetting I was in California where people don’t carry guns. Still a little nervous, I began to speak, “I’m so sorry, my neighbor’s dog ran back here and I’m just trying to catch him.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Get the hell outta here!”
“I will just as soon as I get the dog. I promise.” I was really sorry for invading this woman’s home.
“You’ll never get away with this!”
“Mam, I’m only trying to get the dog, I not trying to break in or take anything. I just need to get the…” As I finished my sentence I looked up and noticed Rocky was trying breach a huge cage with a… parrot… inside.
“Get the hell outya here! Get the hell outta here!”
It wasn’t an old woman at all… it was a live security device. Embarrassed, I grabbed Rocky and dragged him all the way home. My obediently little puppy followed behind with no leash. By the time I got home I looked like I had just been conquered by the Aztecs. My distressed state and appearance required a call in late to work and a cold shower. I didn’t even bother to apply makeup. Rocky had gotten the best of me that day, as did the California heat and the grumpy old woman-like parrot.
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