Ninja Homer Clone and Reptar

Now that  is a title.  :)  Right.  So after my last post Husband dearest asked about the "chasing the not my dog" story.  Upon ceasing my re-telling of the episode, he immediately begged me to re-tell the story, once again, to the world via this tiny little blog.

So.

I had Little Squirt up on my shoulder/against my chest venturing around the house picking up Sesame's loose toys.  It's quite the task.  I must say, I feel closely related to primates when I do this.  I tend to use my feet much like hands so as not to disturb Little Man's cozy, content place on my shoulder.  If only I had thumbs on my feet.  Moving on...

As I picked up what felt like the tenth naked doll baby I realized Homer had been outside for an extended period of time.  I thought to myself, "Self, it's probably not the best idea to leave a black, longish haired dog outside when the heat index is 110."  Thusly, I decided to let him in.  I opened the back door and whistled to call Homer inside.

Only he was outside of my yard.
Down the easement.
Far away.
Between to houses.

I immediately frantically screamed like a crazy lady losing her mind called his name.  He turned and looked over his shoulder as if to say "Come and get me Momma."  Then turned away.

At this point I freaked.

I went bounding across the yard in my bleach stained, too small, post partum T-shirt and yoga shorts - Squirt in tow.  And, by "in tow" I mean still being held on my shoulder.

And he's 6 weeks old at this point.
With decent head control.
But not enough for a sprint across a prairie-like 1/2 acre yard.

As I bounded, dodging dog poop and sand toys, I half yelled at Homer half tried to protect my son's head from banging into my shoulder, or head, or chest or pretty much anywhere that his floppy neck muscles would allow.  I am fairly certain he looked like a Dwight Schrute bobble head on crack.

He was a trooper though.
Cooed the whole time.
I think he's going to be laid back.  :)

We neared Homer when I noticed something odd.  This dog was smallish.  Homer is not.  This dog had no collar.  Homer has a choke chain collar.

This dog, was not my dog.

Yes, it's true.  I ran, with my newborn son, across our yard in clothing that should really be at the bottom of a trash can, only to find that the dog I was chasing, was not mine.  Fail.

But at least my dog was lounging on my bed, legs flailed about haphazardly, snoring in obedient domestication.

Thus ends the dog story.

               

 This Reptar.  I dubbed Squirt "Reptar" because of his reptile like skin.  It's all in love kids - all in love.  In all seriousness though, his skin is so terribly dry that we might have to see a pediatric dermatologist.  Poor kid.  Keep your fingers crossed that detergent switches, olive oil, hydrocodone and insanely thick lotion goo will do the trick.