Son of dog.

Or: Dog, Part 2: an FAQ.

Q: How many messages total did you leave for the strange large friendly dog's people?

A: Three. One when we first identified the phone number from the tag; one for the second phone number on the tag, wherein we intimated that we might need to take the dog to the shelter; and a third, left by running/college/former missionary son, wherein he said, pretty much, "We're keeping the dog here, and you can call me anytime, because I'm going to be up all night. I'm young like that."

Q: Where did the strange large friendly dog sleep?

A: At first, we thought to corral his largeness and curiosity in a warm bathroom, with a cushiony bed and blanket. However, he thought dimly of this arrangement, and there was much whimpering for the 22.5 minutes he was in there. Aforementioned son thought it would be better to have the large dog downstairs and Bruiser upstairs, which would have necessitated Bruiser sleeping with us, which is in fact what he did. On our bed. With occasional jumping out of bed to whimper at the door, indicating his grave dissatisfaction about our refusal to allow him to investigate, i.e. fight with, the strange large friendly dog. But we were firm, and the new arrangement worked out fine, if by "worked out fine" you mean "we got four hours of sleep last night."

Q: What of strange large friendly dog? What became of him?

A: Taking aforementioned son up on his offer, the people of the strange large friendly dog called at about five a.m., and came to get the dog thereafter. Bruiser took notice of this exit by hopping out of bed and whining at the door. We were all Wha? and went right back to sleep. Roughly around seven a.m., son announced that the strange large friendly dog had been retrieved by his grateful human, and I thought, basically, Thank God. Because it's one thing to have a strange large friendly dog follow you home and try to romp with your leashed dog (if by "romp" you mean "hump"), and then have a doggy sleepover at your house. It's quite another to deal with that situation in the light of day. When you have to go to work, and there's a blizzard coming on.

Now that you mention a blizzard: no one could have been happier than I than when the snow-day-callers at my place of employ called a snow day starting at 2 p.m. My only complaint was that they could have just gone ahead and called it two days ago on Sunday. Everybody knew it was coming. Let's be proactive, people.

So, after provisioning (almonds, laundry detergent, whipping cream, potato chips, Izzy soda), we hunkered down to wait for the storm. As the hours passed and there was wind but no snow, and even a patch of blue sky, I found myself anxious for the snow day's credibility. What if only a paltry amount of blizzard arrived? What if, blizzard-wise, it were a pussy cat instead of a roaring beast? Would they ever call a snow day again? Thank goodness we got a little pizzazz out of the storm. Now, I'll be busy thinking proactive thoughts about how it could last until tomorrow around noon. A double-header snow day is the best.

(p.s. for all friends and beloveds who are traveling: I hope you're safe and get where you're going more or less on time.)