Ronnie the Dog, Part 2

Giving this another go... Blogger don't seem to like me much, may be because it's grumpy as I'm here so seldom now a days? Can Blogs go grumpy? Or do the go blumpy??? Sorry.. I should go on and tell you that finally all the legal details have been sorted (I talked to my, previous[ly], lovely neighbour and told him that if he didn't get his act together I'd tell all the world about his pink underwear with fluffy rabbits on [Oups]) and you can finally "enjoy" the final bit in the Ronnie Saga. I really should tell you that it has been a hard year, I have spent many a sleepless night and day trying to remember the details to fully be able to put you "in" the story.... Eh, maybe not, but I could have, not just that I'm a lazy little ######, so, no more preamble here it is, the second and final part of the Missing Ronnie saga:

..........

Now when I found out that Ronnie was missing I of course tought "Good onya Mate!" that he had run away instead of getting bullied into makeing miraculous papadams (or some such) or be thrown in the little blue rubbish bin with orange ribbons (without his chrispy dog biscut at that!).

But when I tought about for a while I came to realise that without Ronnie, who would organise the other dogs in the morning prayer? Who would make those miraculous papadams I so craved (but had never had)? And, I liked Ronnie, the number of times we had sat up under the stars howling at the moon... I knew I just had to find him! His life wasn't that bad, Mr and Mrs Marzoq, for all their dog-make-miracles hookyspooky (not sure if that's a word, but it sounds like it acurately describes what they were up to) weren't all that bad, not all dogs had their own King Sized memory foam mattresses with built in biscuit dispenser.

So I set of right away to find Ronnie, right after talking having dinner, a bath, changed socks and kissed my mum goodnight, pretened to sleep for 18 minutes and sneakily sneaked down in the basement and packed an emergency-dog-finding-pack (contents secret) that is.

But my problem lay in that I, although having ocassionaly sat in on the dogs prayer meetings and howled at the moon, did not have much clue of to where a dog would runaway to if he were to run away (which a dog had done in this case). If figured that if he had run to the moon I'd have to go home and repack my emergency-dog-finding-back somewhat, and as that would require me to sneakily sneak into the basement in the dark I decided against it. So I guessed my best course of action were to try get a dogs perspective on things, so I duly sat down on my hunches and howled at the moon and munched on a crunchy-dog-biscuit.

After about 10 minutes of howling and munching my mouth started to taste like something bad, like crunchy-dog-biscuits I guess would be the best explanation, and sitting on the ground when it's freezing, and your not actually a dog but just trying to be one, is rather over rated i found. I had of course not gained any greater insight into where a dog would run away to when he ran away, apart from knowing that I couldnt sit and munch on crunchy-dog-biscuits and howl at the moon any longer.

But that was enought for me, and I set of in the general direction (not the general direction of anything, just in the general direction of the direction). Now setting of in a general direction, can seem like a nice idea when you have no clue of where it is you want to go, but after a while when you don't really know where the general direction of home is anymore, and when everyone you meet is called Mr or Mrs Pinetree (oh, or Junior Pinetree, but he's generally rather shy) and your visibillity is rather limited as Mr and Mrs Pinetree like to live close to Mr and Mrs Pinetree 2 and 3 and 4 and ..... And they all want Junior's Pinetree to be able to sleep without being disturbed by Mr Moon or Misses Stars, well the general direction is a bit to vague..

At this stage I, even though I was (and am) a very brave young (ish) lad started to get a little bit afraid, especially as I could hear moon howling, and appart from Mr Mutton and his dog Hans, I could think of nonone else living out in these parts. Unless of course it was Ronnie! (with some friends, but Ronnie's always been a popular guy so he'd be bound to make friends with anyone he met). So, with newfound optimism I set out in the not-so-general direction of the howling. But after a while I found that the howling seemed to be moving around, and unfortuantely moving away from me.

Panic!

No way I could catch up with the howling Ronnie and his friends on foot, under Mr's and Mrs's Pinetree, without the help of nice Uncle Sun. Strangely us humans when we panic don't think entierly rational, and I was (..) no exception and started running in the somewhat-more-general direction of the howling, for about 15m or so before I SMACKED into Mr Pinetree 4511 and ended up on my hunches, facing the moon.

Where I opted to do the most natural thing anyone in my position could do; I started howling at the moon and eating crunchy-dog-biscuits... And there, under the tree, whapping (my troat had given up by now) at the moon and munching pine cones (not much different from the crunchy-dog-biscuits) is where the search and rescue party found me in the morning...

Apparently my mum had, when being woken up at 5.37 to 5.38 by praying and barking had run up to my room to tell me the good news that Ronnie hadn't shrinked his responsibilites and had come back in time to lead the prayer. Or well, she would have told me had I been there, and as mums seem to do a lot she panicked (not by running into a tree and howling at the moon) but by shouting for my dad that I was missing and calling all the neighbours to organise a search and rescue party (no point calling the police where we lived as they consisted or Mr Larsson and his blind dog Snuffy who both tended to fancy the pink mushrooms a bit to much).

Well, as you can understand I (after the initial "Ohh, there you are, we have been soooooo worried" hugs and stuff) got into a lot of trouble for runnig away to be with the wolves and howl at the moon (and for stealing dads imported wheatbix) and had to talk to a woman in a white coat that said that I was a huuuman being and not an animal, and that you could tell that by me being able to use my hands when I went to the toilet.. I found that rather stupid as I already knew I wasn't a dog because I didnt much fancy crunchy-dog-biscuits (or wheatbix) and couldnt scratch my nose with my back paw...

So, wrapping up the story and giving you some morals: When a responsible miracle working dog runs away, don't go following him in a general direction, just wait until the following mornings prayer!

/The End