Roamin' Rosco

Arrgh.......

Tonight, as I'm falling asleep, I notice a certain lightness of missing fuzzy butts. I reach for the flashlight and see Fips staring out the dining room window into the dark. But where is Rosci? Sigh... Not again!

I get up and flash around the garden. No sign of number two. I call out and check around the house, but there is nothing. Merde.

I pull on some pants and a tee, leash Fips and head out the gate. I'm hoping Fips will smell the right way. He turns left and we head down Hilderbrand. This makes sense because that's were the current bitch-in-heat lives.

Two houses down and we're joined by Peanuts and Bear who make total pests of themselves, quite obviously thinking, "Oooh, this is FUN!" Fipsie more or less makes a bee-line for the bitch's house. When we get there, the troop of us walk half way down the driveway, as I start to call out softly. The guy's truck is there, but all the lights are off and I don't want to start banging on his door. Not at one in the morning. I wait around hoping to hear or see some sign of Rosco chasing and humping. But it's total silence. Merde.

Now I'm worried and wish I had taken the truck. If Rosci's not here he could be anywhere and that includes the highway. I'm also sweaty and clammy since its chilly outside. In Anglo-Saxon, !F&@*$%#!!

Shooing Peanuts and Bear away, Fips and I head back home where, very very carefully, so as not to run over anything dark and fuzzy, I back the truck out. Talk about "tension city!" I head down Mirabel, parallel to the highway, all the way to end, hoping to catch a trotting Rosco in my high beams. Still nothing.

I drive back up on the highway hoping like hell that that's not where he's at... Nothing. The shape I saw on the turn out, turns out to be a paper bag. Whew!....

Back down Hilderbrand. Still absolutely no sign of Rosco.

I return home and wonder if it would do any good to call Michael. Really! What am I thinking, or not? I decide to take another walk down Mirabel. This time I put on my jacket. As I get to the gate... there is Mr. Fuzzy Butt himself, panting and ...I suppose... wondering when I'm going to snap to and open up.

Fips is all kissy poos and runs very right next to his bro. Rosco could care less and makes for the toilet. Slurp, slurp, slurp. It is now 1.59 AM and instead of getting a good early night's sleep, I'm going to get drunk. I still have no idea where the hell Rosco went.

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