Fact: You can take the girl out of the small, country, backwoods town but you can’t take said small, country, backwoods town out of the girl.
8am, Sunday morning. Mr. MotherOfDragons and I are painting the new house when he gets a call that there is an unknown creature trapped in the dumpster where he works. He’s a director at a country club in the burbs – filled to the brim with big houses, fast cars, and Stepford Wives. Naturally, I’m the Bobbie Markowitz (Bette Middler’s character) of the Club – with my raucous southern accent, love of day drinking, and general boisterious attitude towards life – I fit in seamlessly.
HA! Just kidding. I don’t. Where’s the fun in that?
But I digress. One Stepford husband asserted it was a possum (opossum?) because it didn’t have a tail –insert dramatic eye roll– first of all, opossums (possums?) only distinct feature is their tail and come to find out this mystery animal definitely did have a tail. I mean, the ridiculousness of this city mouse and his absurd claims.
Hours pass and many, many, many phone calls to my husband later, animal control had yet to show up, no one knew what to do, and the unidentified animal in question was still in the dumpster – and that’s no place for an animal. So this fearless country mouse decided to take things into her own hands because digging in trash isn’t too far removed from her past. She’s not too good for an old fashioned dumpster dive and sometimes it just takes a woman to get a job done. Amirite? I’d even further it to say being knee deep in a dumpster is no different than being knee deep with 3 boy dragons. The only differencebeing the dragons carry a wider variety of diseases. So there’s that.
I arrive, burst through the crowd (which had grown quite large by this point) of curious bystanders (who were zero help and should have been ashamed of themselves, if we’re being honest here), slowly opened the lid and what glorious sight stood before me, peering up at me with a pair of beautiful beady eyes, but a ferret. A calm, sweet, house ferret. That someone threw away. THREW AWAY! For the love!
One mans trash is another dragon mama’s treasure and I was going to bring him home. “HE’S MINE, BITCHES! MOVE OUTTA MY WAY!” I squealed as I parted through the crowd.
It’s worth mentioning that when I proudly pulled him out of the dumpster, much in the way that Mufasa did Simba on Pride Rock, no one cheered. There were no acclamatory high-fives. No ‘atta girl’s with a pat on the back. No one wanted to pet him or even look at him. I literally saved a life and everyone was disappointed.
Whatever. The dragons will LOVE this, was the pep talk I gave myself on my walk of shame out of the dumpster.
By this time animal control finally decided to show up and I wasn’t about to hand over my newly rescued treasure. I’ve had enough run-ins with AC to know what they’re really about. They were going to assassinate the dumpster ferret. They were going to put him in the electric chair. His ass was on the highway to the danger zone… again.
NOT ON MY WATCH!
So an employee and I concocted a partially proficient lie that included me giving a fake name (because my real name is on their top 10 watch list due to my Hudini-dog and the warrant out for his (my?) arrest.. but that’s another blog post) and several other alternative facts at the expense of the life of dumpster ferret. I mean, does he even know what we’re going through for him? Is he aware?
While all this was going on, my sister, AuntOfDragons, FaceTimed the dragons and told them I was bringing home a surprise she bought them. She’s an idiot.
I finally made it home and greeted the boys with their new pet. There hadn’t been this much excitement since Jesus stood among the lepors and boy was it great. You know, you can always count on small children to recognise your accolades when the rest of the world shits on you.
NumberTwo named him Robert. Mr. MotherOfDragons still calls him Dumpster Ferret and claims we’re not keeping him. What a silly goose.
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