And People Wonder Why I'm Always Reading Labels

Not Quite Ready for the Evil Plan Laugh

My husband and I have been singing the praises of the "free" section of Craigslist ever since it helped us quickly get rid of the swing set the previous owners of our house left in our yard. But the other day, he shared with me an article that talked about the dark side of the section.

Apparently, some folks are not only advertising their own stuff, but their neighbors'. They get tired of seeing the dirty old couch on the porch or some such thing, so they post an ad saying, "even if no one's home, go ahead and take it, it's free."

He meant to tell me this as a cautionary tale, i.e., in case anyone shows up at the house saying they want to pick up whatever we listed for free on Craigslist, and he hasn't told me that he's listed something, not to give it to them.

I think I missed the point, though. Because my first thought was, what of McCrochety's can we advertise for free? Unfortunately, the only thing he keeps outside is his minivan, and I don't think anyone would just take that. And even if they tried, he watches out his window, so he'd see them.

I guess I'll have to go back to my original plan of sending a drum set to the new owner of my old condo.

If You Don't Know How To Do It, I'll Show You How To Walk The Dog

Twelve days into house ownership, we have made, well, not as much progress as we would have liked. New carpet is down, appliances are in and some rooms have been painted, but the house still isn't what you might call move-in ready. So we haven't quite moved in.

Oh, we live there. But most of our belongings are still boxed up in the garage. The only room we have fully unpacked is the kitchen.

Stella, for her part, is settling in fairly well. She had a rough first week, made rougher by the fact that there were carpet tacks and painting materials all over the place, so she wasn't allowed to run free in the house. But I gated off the dining room for her and took time out of each day to walk or play with her, and after being in the house for awhile now, she's getting used to the new routine.

Today, her new routine gets an added element -- a pet sitter. When we lived in the condo, my husband was able to stop in on his lunch break to visit with her and take her out, but now, neither of us works close enough to home to do so. And 10 hours with no potty break is a long stretch for my little dog; she can make it, but she has a tough time.

I feel a little strange about having someone in my house, taking care of my dog, when I'm not there. (And embarrassed about the house's current state of disarray.) But I feel pretty good about Stella's new babysitter. She was very nice and quite professional and answered all of our questions before we even asked them.

And since I left a full treat jar on the table this morning before I left, I am sure Stella and her sitter will be best pals in no time.

Regretfully They Tell Us, But Firmly They Compel Us, To Say Goodbye To You

Farewell, condo; hello, house.

We closed bright and early on Friday morning, had most of our things moved in by early evening and began the long, arduous cleaning process on Saturday. The move went pretty smoothly, all things considered -- that is, until I returned to the condo with my mother-in-law to retrieve the last few items the movers couldn't take. I was secretly hoping for one last chance to annoy (and possibly tell off) McCrochety, but the universe had other plans.

As we were pulling up to the building, I noticed a man with a beagle, off-leash (the beagle, not the man, though come to think of it, the man wasn't on a leash either) and peeing on the front lawn (this time just the beagle). I hadn't seen that dog in the neighborhood before, but other than the fact that she was not leashed, it didn't strike me as all that strange.

When we got out of the car, though, the man came up and asked me if I knew whose dog it was; he had seen her wandering around and was worried because she was alone and close to a busy street. He couldn't get close enough to look at her tags; he pulled out his cell phone and said he might try to call the police department's non-emergency number. A few minutes later when I came out with some things to load into the car, the man was gone. But the dog remained.

After another few minutes, when the man hadn't reappeared and no one had shown up to retrieve the dog, I started getting concerned. The pup seemed friendly, so I cautiously approached her to see if I had better luck reading her tags. She was wary of me, but with a little smooth talking, I was able to get her to stand still.

She was definitely skittish, but she seemed to be a sweet girl, and definitely a runaway (as opposed to a throwaway). She was well fed and well groomed; in fact, I thought she must have just had a bath, because she smelled clean and flowery. I called the number on her tag (the Animal Welfare League) and was told there was no one available to pick the dog up, but I was welcome to bring her in or hold on to her until someone could come to get her.

Holding on to her wasn't an option. I was smack in the middle of a move -- the condo was no longer mine, and I wasn't going back to the new house till the next morning. But taking her in was a lot to ask. It was 10 p.m., I'd been up since 5:30 a.m., I had to get my things out of the condo and drive to my in-laws' house, an hour away, to stay the night, and the Animal Welfare League was 25 minutes in the opposite direction. Not to mention that I had my own dog and a jam-packed car full of stuff.

But I couldn't just let this poor dog roam free. It was a chilly night, and there was a very busy street just a few feet away; the chances of something bad happening to this poor animal were just too great. I thought of my little Stella, at that moment sitting in her carrier in the car. How would I feel if she got out and no one did anything to help get her home? Somewhere, this little beagle had a family who was missing her, and if I could help, I had to help.

I decided to try the police, even though the man who had found the dog apparently had had no luck. I'm glad I did; they said they hadn't gotten a call that she'd been found. They had, however, received a report from the dog's owner that she was lost. I gave the dispatcher my address, took Stella's leash out of the car and walked the dog around a bit until her owner showed up.

As I waited, I began to wonder how I would know the owner. One would think that a person wouldn't try to claim a dog that wasn't theirs, but these days, you never know. Luckily, the beagle took it upon herself to let me know everything was OK; as soon as her owner was within view, she sat. And while she had been skittish with me, she very obviously knew -- and liked -- this lady, so I felt comfortable sending them on their way together.

So while I may not have gotten a chance to say a proper goodbye to McCrochety, it felt great to reunite this sweet girl with her owner. All in all, I'd say it was a very satisfying end.

And The Sign Said Anybody Caught Trespassing Would Be Shot On Sight

We have one night left in the condo, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get a chance to tell off McCrochety.

Stella, however, wanted to make sure she had her say.

I'd Like To Thank My Fan

Earlier this evening, I was on the phone with my friend Marla, who was making plans for a visit. Not only was I excited that I'll be seeing her soon, I was thrilled that she still wants to see me after all of the venting I've done this week about the upcoming move. (And, to be fair, the venting I do just about every time I talk to her.)

During the conversation, she mentioned that she'd told an acquaintance about some of our home-buying woes, because he bought a condo not long ago and would understand the headaches we're having. But the conversation didn't launch into a discussion about real estate, like Marla possibly thought it would.

"Wait a minute," her associate had said to her. "Is that the friend who lives by McCrochety?"

Apparently, Marla had, at some point in time, shown him a blog entry I'd written about her, and he decided to keep reading the blog because he liked my style. It may seem like a little thing, but after the crazy couple of weeks I've had, it was nice to get a compliment.

So thank you, guy-who-reads-my-blog. You brightened my day.

Of course, it wouldn't take much to improve upon the last review I got for my writing.

Several months ago, I took a fiction writing class and have been trading chapters with a few of my classmates, even though the course is long over. One of them e-mailed me the other day to say she had read the latest piece I sent but couldn't offer her comments, because she'd thrown up on the pages. She said she'd caught some stomach virus and gotten sick on the bus coming home from work -- with her only choices being the floor of the bus or her tote bag, she chose the bag, which, sadly, contained my work.

I really hope I will someday get a book deal, so I can get her to write a jacket blurb for me. Something like, "Erika's writing brings things out of a person that they'd never expect."

Say Goodbye To The Freak Show

I haven't blogged much lately, partly because I have been busy, and partly because what has been keeping me busy has me tearing my hair out.

About a month ago, my husband and I put our condo on the market, and, miraculously, it sold in just one day. Since then, our lives have been consumed with house-hunting and planning for the big move.

I do feel a bit sad to be leaving the home we've known for three years (almost four for him, as he bought the place not long after we started dating). It was our first home together, and we have so many great memories there. But, of course, we are looking forward to moving into a house, an actual house, with a fenced-in yard for Stella, a two-car garage for us and enough bedrooms to allow each of us to have our own office.

And it won't have McCrochety.

As glad as I am to be leaving him and his crochety ways behind, I can't help but want to make his life miserable until we move out. My husband and I are tired of being the bigger person; we have been the bigger person for years, and it's gotten us nothing but a banging broom handle. And even now, less than two weeks before moving day, he continues to take every chance he gets to complain.

Yesterday morning at about 5 a.m., Stella woke me up, whining to go outside. When I took her out, she began barking at a dog who had beat us to the yard. I lead her to a different spot to pee, and after taking care of business, we went back in. The whole affair took about three minutes but did not go unnoticed by McCrochety. When my husband stopped home for lunch, McCrochety took the opportunity to ask what the early morning barking was all about. My darling husband, who says about one catty thing a year and never looks crosseyed at anyone, simply shrugged and said, "don't know."

I can't be too upset with him for taking the high road. One day last week, I ran into McCrochety outside and said, "good morning" and smiled at the jerk. Ashamed as I am of the incident, in my defense, it was the first warm and sunny day in a long time; I was thrown off balance by nice weather.

But with yet another entry to the McCrochety logbook, I can't help but feel like my time is running out. We move out in approximately 10 days, and I have yet to get a chance to make any of those great speeches I have worked so hard to prepare. The best I've been able to do is stomp up the stairs extra loud and laugh when Stella spit out a twig she was chewing in front of his door.

I want my chance! I want justice! I want to be able to march right up to McCrochety and let him know exactly how miserable he has made us. I want him to realize what a complete jerk he has been.

Alternatively, I want to throw a week's worth of Stella poo at him and run away laughing.

I'm not sure if I will get the opportunity I've been waiting for. I may actually have to knock on his door on purpose, or leave a note (taped to a rock that I throw through his window? Tempting, but probably not altogether a good idea). But until moving day, I'll be ever hopeful for the opportunity to have my say. If anyone has any poitnant but legal ideas for me in the meantime, I will gladly take them.

If anyone has any poignant but illegal ideas, well, I can't help what you people do in your spare time.