With Bug gone for the summer, the house is quiet. Except for me hustling around getting things picked up and cleaned after her tornado departure, it is vewy, vewy quiet. Even the dogs are lazy and moping around. I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with it being 90 degrees with 3000% humidity. But it doesn't. I have air conditioning. No matter how many people pshaw away a bond with an animal, I know it's true because I have experienced it more than one time. They always know when you are sad. They always know when you are sick. They celebrate with you when you are happy. AND they know you, no matter how long you are away. When Bug called me last night, Moose heard her loud voice and ran over to me, nudging the phone, then put his head on my shoulder and I let him listen to the conversation.
After watching with Television Glued Eyes my beloved Longmire, I went to bed. Television Glued Eyes is a syndrome which occurs from becoming addicted to The Walking Dead, Longmire, and Homeland. Sometime during my short snooze, Moose jumped up on the bed and laid on my feet. I was too tired to care. He curled up into a ball resembling a chihuahua and went to sleep, snuggling next to me.
It's amazing how a full grown German Short Haired Pointer can make himself small and tiny. Kind of like cops when you need to meld into the scenery behind a bamboo tree for cover from flying bullets. We were lonely and pouting for lack of Bug, but it wasn't inappropriate attention for each other. No spoons were involved.
It was around midnight when Moose started to growl. I told him to stop, but he continued. Expecting to see him staring out the window at some squirrel on a wire or hopping from limb to limb or torturing him from afar, I was surprised to see him with his head alert looking into the hallway. He did not listen to my repeated attempts to shush him.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a dark shadow pass by my doorway and go into Mady's room. It was a shadow man type figure, black transparent, cloak, and fast. Or at least I thought it was kind of transparent. I felt it was manly. Hmm. Could it be the Serial Killer? Definitely the right color, but wrong shape. And he was never into cloaks.
I was seeing things now. Both doors had been locked long ago, so no one got in or I would have heard them, especially if they tried to get in through a window. And who would break into some one's house dressed in a cloak? Super Bandit? Jack the Ripper?
I was no sooner deciding to get out of bed. I needed a weapon for the Masked Mandit, as I call him. Because was it really a man or a bandit? Or both? At the same time reaching for my gun, Moose startled me again. He sat up and barked and growled, still staring into the hallway. I had not taken my eyes off the direction he was snarling. His teeth were bared and he was intent on alerting me to The Boogie Man, aka: The Mandit. I did not see anything nor anyone moving. In my t-shirt and freshly painted nails (Fargo self pedi and mani) with Glock in hand, I cleared the Harry Potter House to no avail.
Even though no one was there, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing upright. The Hinklemeter was up at full throttle. I'm no dummy. Dogs don't just snarl and get aggressive for no apparent reason. It was an unsolved mystery. Maybe we will discover more tonight. Hopefully it was just a one time incident. Maybe my dog needs to see a therapist. Can dogs turn schizophrenic? Paranormal anyone?
Maybe I need to call Amy and Steve.