In my room I want you here

God bless Ruby the dog. I love her. The Boy(s) love her. I think My Lovely Bride even loves her, although she won't kiss Ruby. My point -- believe when I say, Ruby is loved at Casa Tinsley, even though she's crazy. Seriously. Ruby is nuts.

The dog is is a kleptomaniac mongrel who loves nothing more than to destroy items made of wood, plastic and rubber. Ruby has destroyed numerous flip flops and wrecked a $40 pair of Wy Wy's shoes. She mangles toys. Shreds pencils. Punctures balls. Mutilates stuffed animals. She eats stuffing from the underside of the box springs on our bed. Ruby even defiled a crucifix. A week after that incident, I was surprised that Pastor Jack's fingers didn't ignite when he blessed Ruby. Not that it took.

My Lovely Bride accuses me of being negative. That's what she said when I claimed the gonzo dog lady lost Ruby's papers on purpose. I figured Ruby's file was more a rap sheet than vet and shot records. I thought that was the reason Ruby was imprisoned in the first place. Why the gonzo dog lady had to save her. Why she ended up in the cavalcade of unwanted dogs. Because she was crazy. I surmised the dog lady felt if she didn't send the papers to us, we would become attached to Gretchen (that was her name then,) before we realized she was nuts.

On a recent Saturday morning, after Ruby peed on our red rug for the second time in a week, I wanted to ask my Lovely Bride if she still felt I was being negative with my theory on Ruby's missing paperwork.

I didn't though. I was scared. My Lovely Bride was livid. It being the second infraction that week she punished Ruby, hard. Then she banished her to the back yard. Ruby ended up in the garage. A few hours later, my Lovely Bride long gone on an errand, The Elder Boy, Ruby's biggest advocate, asked if she could come inside. I agreed to exonerate Ruby, and let her back in the house. Only one problem. Ruby was gone.

I freaked.

You see, Dear Reader, our fence is about to fall over. Multiple holes. Places to escape. I feared that Ruby, upset over her punishment, might have said, screw this family, I'm out of here. Ruby is obviously a survivor. In fact, she's been saved three times if you count the Pastor Jack blessing. Ruby or Gretchen could be a recidivist. Some sort of career criminal, or a dog version of one. Gone.

I searched the backyard, the front yard, the alley trying to find Ruby (she turned up in a far corner of our garage, sandwiched between the back wall and an old cafeteria style table.) As I searched, I realized that gonzo dog lady was correct. I was attached to the mongrel. Sure, I had been furious with her an hour ago, but now, which was then, walking through the muck in the alley, I was upset. How would I ever be able to tell E, Ruby was gone. He sleeps with her every night. Talks to her in that sing-song baby voice. Both Boy(s) play with her. They grab, pull, tug and chase her. She doesn't nip at them when they are rough. She doesn't growl. She puts up with whatever they dish out with aplomb.

Ruby might be crazy. No. Ruby is crazy. Normal dogs don't refuse to go outside, only to urinate on the rug five minutes later. Normal dogs don't hop around like a crazed goat, unprovoked, nearly every night around 8pm, barking. Normal dogs don't urinate on the cement patio instead of the grass. Normal dogs don't break into your closet, pilfer your flip flops, and then eat them. Ruby is the antithesis of normal.

The thing I realized in the alley that Saturday is this: Ruby has to be crazy to live with us.

Until I BLOG again...So messed up I want you here.