Midnight Marauders

After a nearly 16 hours on the road, at least a quarter of it crawling through road construction, we were exhausted when we finally arrived in Fort Worth. The next morning my daughter and I had to get to the grocery store by 8am to pick up the ingredients for the cheesy potatoes and chinese cole slaw we were bringing to an early Thanksgiving feast.

A full day at a Texas ranch enjoying good food and hospitality left me so tired I collapsed in bed about 11pm. A few hours later I wake up to the persistent whine of our basset hound.

“I let the dog out,” my husband mumbles, but I’m not convinced. As soon as I open the bedroom door, the other two dogs in the house glue themselves to my legs as I walk down the hall, Gunther the shepherd to the right, Bear the black mix to the left, and Scooby trotting on his stubby little legs behind.

Okay, maybe they all need to go out. I open the back door, but Scooby just lifts his leg on the BBQ in a marking-my-territory squirt while Gunther smells his butt. So, they all come back inside. Still they won’t leave me alone. Bear nudges my arm, Gunther dances around me, and Scooby sits with a “why me?” expression on his face.

Finally, when Gunther tries to remove the cover of the dog food container with his nose, I figure out they must be hungry. But, when I open the container, only a few kibbles remain at the bottom. Bear sits patiently by his bowl, and Gunther paces back and forth, sticking his nose into the empty container as if to reassure himself I’m holding out on him.

I know we bought a huge bag of dog food yesterday, so I began searching. All three dogs follow closely, sniffing in all the corners in case the food is hiding somewhere. No luck.

Maybe the food is still in the trunk of my daughter’s car, but I don’t have the keys. Both of them are sleeping because they have to get up a 5am to meet friends for tailgating before the Cowboys game. I start another search, and again the dogs assist me, Scooby sweeping the floor with his nose and ears.

I remember my daughter usually leaves her keys by the door. I spot them and then carefully open the bedroom door. My husband is snoring, his face to the wall. I feel around in the dark for my shoes, but can lay my hands on only one. It’s Texas, so I figure I can manage in my bare feet.

With my exit hampered by three canine bodies pushing against me, I finally escape to the driveway and get the trunk open. Alas, when I try to lift out the bag of dog food, I realize my shoulder pain and resulting weakness in one arm make the feat impossible. How am I going to do this?

Both the driveway and ground are wet, so I can’t drag the bag to the door even if I can get it out of the trunk. So, I pull it halfway out, then bend down and slide under it so the bag rests on my back. After easing the bag completely out, I realize I can’t close the trunk lid from my Quasimodo position.

With the bag of food wedged between my butt and the side of the car, I reach back with my good arm and slam down the lid. At the same time, the car keys drop from my hand, but I hear them clatter on the driveway, so I know I’d didn’t lock them in the trunk.

I feel around on the wet concrete with my bare feet until my toes come in contact with the keyring. However, I can’t quite reach them, so I bend down, the bag of food still balanced on my back, and stretch under the car with one arm until I can grasp the keys.

With one hand gripping the keys and the other holding the bag in place, I hobble up the walk bent at the middle like a Japanese rice picker. When I reach the door, I panic because it won’t open. Will I have to ring the doorbell and wake the entire house? No, it’s just the dogs clustered against the door that prevent it from budging.

Using one arm to hold the bag of dog food still balanced on my back, I use the other shoulder, the bad one, to lean against the door. Apparently the dogs hear me outside and step back, leaving me to tumble into the entryway, the bag of dog food on top of me. I lean on Gunther to pull myself up, then drag the bag down the hallway to the kitchen, all three dogs so close beside me it’s hard to walk without stepping on one of them.

Why do they make these bags so hard to open? I finally find a dangling string that when pulled zips it open. The dogs are overcome with excitement, Gunther doing a happy dance between the bag of food and the dish in his kennel. Bear sits politely by his dish, but anticipation in his eyes. Scooby whacks his tail so hard against my legs I’m sure I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

I grab the cup out of the empty container and measure out food into bowls for both Gunther and Bear, but Scooby’s bowl must still be in the backseat of our car. I am not venturing outside again, so I search for something to use as a dog dish. Scooby is beside himself, panting and whining, until I finally just grab the cover for a large plastic bowl about the size of a hubcap.

Even with a pile of dog food on it, the cover is so light Scooby pushes it around the kitchen tile floor as he eats. Gunther wolfs his food in noisy gulps and Bear concentrates on emptying his bowl, his curled tail at attention.

Now, I’ve got to figure out how to put the dog food into the container. Having finished dining, all three dogs sit and watch me struggle to lift the bag. Eventually, by pushing the container against the freezer and propping the bag on my knee, I can tip it up and pour the food into the bag. I fold the empty bag and put it in the pantry. This is a new vegetarian food, and the pet store said we can bring it back if the dogs don’t like it. No chance of that since all three bowls (well, two bowls and a cover) are empty.

I go back to bed, and since the house is now quiet, I assume the midnight marauders are content with full tummies.

Postscript: When the dogs are not ravenous, they turn up their noses at the vegetarian food. Guess it’s back to the store with it.