While I have been having massive quantities of awesome wine fun with Daisy (still not a serial killer), Slappy has spent about 30 emotionally draining hours holding vigil for Karma.

He placed fliers around our neighborhood, he spoke with a local restaurant that feeds strays, he slept on the couch downstairs with both the front and the back doors open waiting for Karma to come home. He walked around the neighborhood whistling (because Karma cannot help but come to you when you whistle. She’s not part dog, but the way she looks, she might have eaten one once) and all to no avail.

And then tonight, as it was getting cold out, he stepped into the back yard to see if any of the catfood outside had been eaten, he whistled and she responded.

She was under the house.

She’s found.

She’s home.

She’s fine.

And tomorrow, when I get home? I’m kicking her ass. And maybe telling you about the wild antics of the blog meet up in Chicago, wherein like 32 bottles of wine were consumed and I’m pretty sure I almost got my first concussion.

Things are SO looking up. You know, minus the big-ass lump on the back of my head.

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