Last night, my husband and I went out to dinner with our parents for his birthday. We left Kona, as usual, in the kitchen. Kona's favorite activity this summer - other than chewing on my husband's hands - has been relaxing on top of the air conditioning vents while the A/C is running. Just chillin', so to speak. Which is funny as hell, especially when the A/C kicks in while he's on the vent, waking him and startling him out of his latest nap, but it makes whatever room he's in rather stuffy. He's well-insulated, is what I'm saying.
So last night, we unlock the door, and as usual, Kona's right there, trying to get some love the minute we're barely visible. I noticed immediately that he was being louder than normal. In fact, he was clanking. I couldn't figure it out. Had he somehow managed to knock down the baby gate that keeps him out of the living room and drag it with him to the door? Had he turned into a cyborg while we were gone?
Oh, no. Not even close.
As we managed to get the door open, we realized that he had an air vent register tangled in his collar. Clearly, he'd assumed his normal position - prone on top of the A/C vent - and when he jumped up when he heard us, the register went with him. He looked like a little dog rapper. "Yo, DAWG..." I felt like the parent of a teenager who comes home to discover a keg in the living room and what's-her-name, the cutsie-pie cheerleader daughter of the CEO of your company passed out on the couch while your son tries to explain how you're mistaken about all your assumptions. (All of which are based solely upon your time in high school, and given how much of a party animal you were, are probably all correct.)
I laughed so hard, I almost couldn't hold myself up. My husband had to take his collar off to disentangle the dog.
Oh well. At least he didn't get a tattoo.
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