How Mister Became Mister
When Scooby was a pup he was normal. He may still be normal if you count talking and smiling in the normal dog category. As a pup though he had trouble getting through the night at first. I slept beside his crate, took him out to pee in the middle of the night and tolerated his whining better than Mister (I was less tolerant with Mister’s whining).
Mister: Call the breeder in the morning and see if we can give back the dog. You did not prepare me for this.
Me: (silence as I was dying inside) (To be fair, neither of us knew what to expect with a puppy. Why is there not a What to Expect When You’re Expecting puppy version? Damn. Did I just give away that idea out loud? You are feeling very sleepy…)
Mister: I mean it.
Me: (Anybody want a peanut? Was I prepared? When will we get home? I really need a pedicure. Is he still talking? I don’t hear whining, did we forget the dog?)
Mister continued his various complaints about the dog, but mostly the gist was, get rid of the dog before he is found dead with a note on his collar saying ‘I warned you’.
We arrived home with 20 minutes to spare. We were having 13 people over for dinner. I had previously ordered Indian food and cupcakes that were to be picked up by Mister on arrival in town. The kids and I went into action. Our daughter took Scooby out to pee and made sure he did while our son set the table, I heated the oven and wiped every surface.
Mister walked in the door with the cupcakes first. Next was the Indian that he put in the oven. Not a real Indian, Indian food.
Mister: I must have dropped some of the curry.
I noticed simultaneously:
- Mister’s foot in the sink, water running,
- The now squished pile in the hall standing beside our dog–I think that was the moment Scooby first smiled. Was Scooby really asleep in the car?…
- The doorbell ringing.
Me: (To our daughter) “take Scooby out NOW!”
I said hi to our company and asked them to meet us in the backyard as I took their drink orders. The steam from the kitchen was not coming from the Indian in the oven (again, food).
Mister: That dog is going back! And, don’t tell anyone about this (That part I silently filed in the round bin of my brain).
Of course I was going to tell everyone at the party and swear them all to secrecy. This kind of stuff is party gold!
At the end of the party when Mister realized that everyone knew (must have been the kids…) and he had had a glass of wine or two, I actually saw him pet the dog. Respect.
Me: You love your daddy even though he wanted to get rid of you don’t you Scooby?
Mister: Let’s get this clear. We can keep him, but I am not to be called daddy.
Me: Say hi to Mister, Scooby.
Although Mister will still not be called the dog’s dad, he does allow the dog to call him Mister and he tells the story himself (albeit wrong because he does sound like he liked the dog from the start in his version). Balance restored. Mister’s name established.
* Photo Taken 4 Days before “the” event. He looks harmless enough but is he plotting?