The Last Time I Talked To My Mother...

It's been a while, hasn't it? It's been while since my mom has done much that would be deemed bloggable.

Before I've told you stories like this.

Or this.

But it's been a while since she has said or done or bought or broken anything that might be worthy of your viewing pleasure.

Until now.

It's a short story, really. But it's Friday and I know you have things to do....so here goes.

Two months ago my dad's dog, Truman, went missing.
My dad thinks he was stolen because "who wouldn't want a full-blood Golden Retriever?"
My mom thinks he ran away because he wasn't "fixed" and there was a lovely young lady who lived down the road.
And my Granny thinks he wandered into the mean old woman's yard down the road and she tied him up just to throw things at him. (Don't ask.)

But nonetheless, Truman gone-gone.

My dad put up posters and more posters. And then he upped the ante. A $500 reward was offered for the return of Truman.

But weeks went by and Truman still gone-gone.

You have to understand how heart broken we all were. Truman was the most beautiful Golden Retriever you've ever seen. Was he good? No. He was horrible. He was destructive and barky and bitey and all puppy. But did we love him? Oh yes, we did. Very much.

And so when my dad got a call that someone had spotted his little Truman down at the local animal pound, and he went down there and it wasn't him, you can understand why he came home with two puppies. Because honestly, who can go to the local pound and NOT bring home a puppy? Or two?

But I digress.

Where was I?

Ah, yes. MOM.

So imagine her delight when she calls me the other night to let me know a "sweet, sweet family, as country as dirt," had called her and said THEY HAD TRUMAN! "Truman! Can you believe it? They have him and they don't want a single penny. Just the pleasure of seeing us take Truman back home! Can you believe it? Can you? Huh? Huh?"

And as I sit here in Tennessee I try - with all my might - to imagine her delight as she flew over to their home in the dark of night. I try to imagine her as she got out of the car and called for him, and he came and licked at her ankles. And I close my eyes and try to imagine how excited she was as she sat and waited in the living room of her house for my dad to get home - the dog flying all over the house in classic Truman style.

And then I try really really hard to imagine her face when my dad walked in.

But try as I might I just can't imagine her disappointment when dad told her, "It's not him, Annette. It's not Truman."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, mainly because it's a yellow Lab."

And I try to imagine her as they loaded him back into the car. To take him back. To the sweet people who were "sweet, sweet, sweet, but country as dirt."

Kinda like my sweet momma.