Pork and Ice Cream

When I woke up this morning I knew, it was going to be a long day. The cold had settled in like an unwelcome relative, selfish and insistent. I drug my sleepy body out of bed and headed for the coffee pot, but before I could get there the phone rang. I glanced at the clock, 6:45… this can’t be good.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Brady?”
“Yes.”
“This is the Carter County Police Dept. we believe we have your dog.”
“My dog?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room.
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He was picked up last night outside the Tasty Freeze.”
“Okay…”
“We’ll need you to come down and post bail.”
“Bail…?”
I looked around to see if anyone else might be here to understand the parts of the conversation I was missing, but I seemed to be surprisingly alone.
“$250.”
“What?”
“$250… it’s mainly for the damages.”
“Damages?”
I knew I was sounding ridiculous, answering everything as if I didn’t hear him, but it was more just the simple act of understanding.
“He ate the cone.”
“Pardon me?”
“The cone… the big one with the chocolate swirl… the one that sits outside of the shop.”
“He ate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, I need to pay $250 to get the dog back.”
“That, and the medical bills.”
“Medical Bills.”
“The cone was pretty big.”
At this point I was wondering if I was actually awake or if this was some crazy dream. I pinched myself. Hard.
“Ouch.”
“Ma’am?”
“Nothing. So how much were the medical bills?”
“$2500.”
“But the dog’s okay?”
“Not exactly.” I decided to wait him out on this one. “Actually Ma’am, we lost the dog.”
“He died?”
“No, we lost him. When he came out of the anesthesia, he jumped off the table at the Emergency Vet’s office and ran out the door.”
“So, I have to pay $2750 for the dog and the damages and you lost the dog?”
“That’s it!”
I rubbed my eyes and thought of the coffee that wasn’t even percolating yet.
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know it’s my dog?”
“We called the number on his tag, and you answered the phone.”
“Well that solves everything.” I said.
“It does?”
“Yes, it can’t be my dog, because I don’t own a phone.”
The police officer on the other end of the line sat quietly for a second.
“I called… an.. and you answered,” he finally stammered.
“Yes.”
“So, who owns the phone.”
“Obviously, the dog.” I said and hung up the phone. I crossed the room, bent down to pet Pork, my two year old, Great Dane that loves to eat ice cream and then slowly made my way to the coffee pot to make my morning Joe.

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." ~Ray Bradbury

Drink up...