I Think I Lost My Funny

24 Apr

Artist’s impression of lost and lonely dog

I found a lost dog on Sunday and I told people about it and didn’t crack one joke in the telling.  How is that possible? Remember when I lost my dog, Toby, a few years ago?  I managed to get three blog posts of almost novella length from that thirty minutes of agony, and cracked one joke after another despite my overwhelming trauma (Hello? Scraped knee, remember).  Here, I find a dog, and nothing: no funny, no cute, no whimsy.  I think I need to plank face-first again in peak traffic to knock the funny back into me.

Here’s what happened: I walked the dogs up to the local park and we arrived and a lone dog – husky-cross, I think – ran up to us, freaked Toby out, followed us off the park, freaking Toby out more, followed us back on to the park…are you asleep yet?  The man lying in the grass whose dog I thought it was and who turned out not to be dead (I seriously wondered, he was so still) was.  Asleep, that is.  You forgot where I was up to, didn’t you?  See, not funny.

Toby freaking out plays a big part in this story, because I had to pick him up to calm him down and his toenail caught in my chunky cardigan – kind of like a KitKat made of wool – oh give me a break, I’m desperate here – see what I did there? – and he screamed, and I mean SCREAMED in panic and wriggled like mad and I happened to be wearing earphones and he got tangled in them, my cardi and the lead so he was practically hyperventilating.  Trust me, a screaming, wriggling, hyperventilating Yorkshire Terrier is a terrifying sight to behold.  And hold.

Meanwhile, Molly slipped out of her harness, Lost Dog capered around blissfully unaware of the mayhem he was causing by being within, oh, I dunno, three miles of Toby, Toby freaked some more, and Not Dead Man kept on sleeping, despite the fact I practically fell over his feet trying to untangle me, my dog, my earphones and my clothes.

Artist’s impression of Molly, the naughty little monkey

Then I had the first of what turned out to be the same conversation with several strange men that day:

TB: Is this your dog?

SM: No.

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.

Artist’s impression of Toby, the Freaking Yorkie

Molly was already off the lead and Lost Dog had a collar but no ID, so I clipped him on and Toby almost fainted.  Resignation then set in, though he did manage a couple of thin-lipped nips at the air beside Lost Dog when he got too close.  Molly followed us home.  Fortunately, the park sort of backs onto our street (trust me, you don’t want a topographical lesson here; I’m falling asleep in the telling as it is), so I knew she’d be safe on the short walk back.

The Hub was watching City lose the FA Cup semi-final (though he didn’t know that yet) when we all arrived home, but promised to help me find the dog’s owner once the match was done.  Then it went into extra time so I marched Lost Dog out of there on his lonesome this time, Molly declining to walk if it meant her own extra time in the street and Toby reclining on his bed (actually Spud’s bed but what Spud doesn’t know Toby could not care less about), emotionally battered until dinner time.

I had the brainwave of saying to Lost Dog, ‘Home!  Take me home!  Let’s go home!  Where’s home, boy?’  He responded by pulling me through a hole in the park fence and running straight to a front door.  I knocked and a handsome man answered:

TB: Is this your dog?

HM: No.

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.  Did you know you’re gorgeous?

Actually, I didn’t say that last bit (I think), but I certainly thunk it.

I was beginning to suspect that Lost Dog, though amiable, was a six-pack short of a six-pack.  I repeated the home mantra and he walked me up and down many streets before leading me to another front door.  I knocked and another handsome man answered:

TB: Is this your dog?

HM: Yes!

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.  Did you know you’re gorgeous?  Wait, back up…he’s yours?  Why aren’t you out looking for him?  Handsome is as handsome does, you know.  Can I leave my husband and have your puppies?

Um, everything after ‘thanks’ may have taken place in my head but, seriously, where did all these handsome men suddenly appear from?  It’s like the sun came out and a shower of hunks descended on Stockport.

Artist’s impression of Handsome Man

Handsome Man (who so isn’t because is as does, like I said) was extremely grateful but in a real hurry to get rid of me.  It was odd – discounting the fact that a middle-aged, frumpy dognapper* was drooling on his doorstep, why was he so eager to be rid of me?  And then I looked at my watch: aha!  Extra time was almost over.  He obviously wanted to get back to the match.  Loving your pooch is one thing; football is quite another.

So, good deed done for the day, I headed home, where the Hub was crying into his fixture list:

Hub: Hey, let’s go find that dog’s owner.

TB: I already did, and you wouldn’t believe how ugly he was, yuk! Eurggh! Disgusting, horrible.  I didn’t embarrass myself at all, honest.

Hub: That’s not funny.


*Spellcheck wants to replace ‘dognapper’ with ‘dapper kidnapper’.  I’m so tempted.


19 Responses to “I Think I Lost My Funny”

  1. Sarah Angleton April 24, 2017 at 18:41 #

    You know, the image of a screaming Yorkshire terrier tangled up in a KitKat wool cardigan and headphones while his owner nearly trips over a soundly-sleeping not dead man in the park probably doesn’t require a lot of spicing up. That’s some pretty funny, boring stuff. And I bet you made a very dapper kidnapper.


  2. Home's Cool! April 24, 2017 at 18:46 #

    Whew, girl, you scared me.
    Until I came over here and had me a great chuckle! You SO MUCH have NOT lost your funny! You should find more lost dogs, though. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Al April 24, 2017 at 19:04 #

    Wow. Found your dog owner and your funny in one fell swoop. Awesome is as awesome does!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. slpmartin April 24, 2017 at 21:23 #

    I must agree with Sarah…your reality is better than any bit of fiction for engendering laughter.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Ron. April 24, 2017 at 21:34 #

    Wait…what? (Not that I missed it, but I’d like to hear you tell it again, TB.)

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Grannymar April 24, 2017 at 21:48 #

    Your funny was just the tonic I needed today, thank you Tilly.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. judyt54 April 24, 2017 at 23:49 #

    you don’t have to BE funny to be funny, Tilly. It just happens. And let’s face it, few of us will ever (and thank the gods for that) experience screaming yorkies, for whatever reason–and you do it so well…

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Sarah April 24, 2017 at 23:53 #

    WHAT ON EARTH did you stick all ovr the Hub?

    Liked by 2 people

    • The Laughing Housewife April 25, 2017 at 12:12 #

      Hehe – he did it to himself. I came in from the kitchen and there he was. Honestly, I can’t leave him alone for five minutes.

      They are CD/DVD stickers.

      Liked by 1 person

  9. sharechair April 25, 2017 at 11:48 #

    Commanding that dog to go “home” was downright brilliant!!

    Liked by 1 person

  10. nicolahulmeblog April 26, 2017 at 10:35 #

    To find one not dead man, two handsome men plus return home to a semi-naked stickered man in one day is some going. Happily, lost dog was returned and your funny returned home with you and poor traumatised Toby. A successful day! This dog walking business seems exhausting. x

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Debra April 29, 2017 at 05:59 #

    Your description of events is pretty funny to me! It sounds like an exhausting near-misadventure, however. Dapper kidnapper is just the best word substitution and I’m so glad you shared it. And I must say your rendering of The handsome man is truly fetching–alarmingly so!


  12. Bridgesburning Chris May 1, 2017 at 12:19 #

    Ah, your funny is perfect and exactly what I needed this very morning! Thank you!!


I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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