In Which My Dog Is a Ginormous Asshole

I believe I have made mention of the fact that Hugh is out of town on business, leaving me alone to defend our home in the case of attack by a rampaging zombie horde, chainsaw-wielding maniacs, aliens from outer space or over-zealous Avon ladies and; I’m ok with that.

While I have no actual reason to believe that I will encounter any of the above-mentioned threats, (with the possible exception of the over-zealous Avon sales representatives because, let’s face it, this economy hasn’t exactly been kind to the independent business woman and we all gotta eat); I do exercise a reasonable amount of caution when securing the house for the night. So, when I was awakened by a loud banging noise on the back porch at three o’clock this morning, I wasn’t terribly concerned.

Ok, that is a lie; in actuality, I was certain that a chain-saw wielding maniac was breaking down the back door, intent on driving us from the house, straight into the arms of the zombie horde which would then eat our brains after which they would toss our empty shells to the aliens for immediate pod-like possession.

Because, at three in the morning; that seemed like a totally reasonable scenario.

Also, terrifying.

Luckily, after a bit of stealth sleuthing, which included outfitting myself with a can of pepper spray, a baseball bat and the Man-Cub’s football helmet-to protect my braaiiins, obviously-I discovered that the loud banging noise was the result of Rowdie tossing one of my rather large spaghetti squashes, which he had stolen right off the vine growing over the garden fence, around the porch while eating it.

Let us recap: My dog stole a squash from my garden, proceeded to eat it in its entirety and, loudly, on my porch at three o’clock in the morning, waking me from a solid sleep and scaring the bejezus out of me, forcing me to don a piece of athletic equipment that did not fit me well at all and, when I had the temerity to scold him for it; looked at me like I was high.

I know! I was thinking the same thing you are; what kind of lame-brained dog eats spaghetti squash?