When I got home from work last night, the house was really empty. Some punk rock show on the college radio station I leave on for Timmy to have a friend all day. Even though he’s deaf. But no Timmy laying on the floor or pacing back and forth or dancing in a puddle of pee. We looked. You can tell Ruby to Go Get Timmy and she always does. But she didn’t. Was like he was gone. Not a peep anywhere. I worried maybe Gary forgot him outside when he came home to take care of him at lunch, but wasn’t outside either. Started looking under things for stuckness. He has sometimes gotten stuck at night under furniture and it is a sad thing to happen to a dog, mistakenly wedged under a couch or a cabinet where dogs don’t fit and where dogs don’t belong.

Yes. Was stuck. All the way wedged under my giant heavy armoire in the bedroom. Couldn’t see much but little tufts of fur that maybe came off in the tussle with himself to undo what he did. Must have slid out on the slick hardwood floor and slid right under then that was that. Stuckness. It’s a beautiful old primitive armoire, heavy distressed pine boards, roughly painted white and holds all my clothes just about. Sits a few inches off the ground and he was just flattened under there, on his side, soaked in pee. Like was quite a million evil clowns in a volkswagen trick to get under there but tricky he is. Started pulling and could feel he was still warm and breathing. Pulled him out enough to see his eyes, just kind of vacant but maybe a glimmer of relief. Pulled the rest of him out gently, not sure what I was going to get, but he was weirdly calm, had a eerily calm bath, and sat with him outside under the creepy orange light from the latest mountain fire up the hill from my house so he could dry off in the air.