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My oven on fireYup.  That’s a fire in my oven.  That black goo dripping all over the place?  My cutting board.  And yes, an empty bottle of ranch dressing.  How did the cutting board and ranch dressing get in the oven?  It started with this dog.

Stray white dogWill has a knack for finding stray dogs.  He’s always finding dogs on the loose, bringing them home, and phoning animal control.

We were heading home around midnight on Friday when we ran into this girl.  Very friendly pup.  We brought her home, let her play with our dogs, and phoned animal control. The usual routine.

Except animal control is closed that late at night, and will only respond to a call about an aggressive or injured animal.  Guess she’s spending the night.  She was full of puppy energy, and our tiny house isn’t exactly designed for a big dog.  She almost knocked the fish tank over.  Twice.  We were afraid she would destroy the house during the night while we were sleeping, so we tried to move as many things out of the way as possible, including the dirty dishes from supper that I didn’t have time to wash before we went out.

You see where I’m going with this.

I stuffed some of the dirty dishes in the oven.  And forgot about them.  Until today when I went to bake banana bread.

Major meltdown.

Thankfully, a few months ago, Will had also started a fire in the oven and had no way to put it out.  I say “thankfully” because (a) he did the same thing and therefore can’t get mad at me, and (b) we bought a fire extinguisher after that incident and hung it up in the pantry.  I had that fire extinguished in less than two seconds.  Then I spent three hours cleaning up puddles of black plastic and dry chemical dust in the kitchen.  I’ve inhaled so many volatile chemicals today, I’ll be surprised if I don’t have cancer in ten years.  Ugh.

Lessons learned?

  • Don’t store dirty dishes in the oven
  • Don’t buy any more plastic cutting boards
  • Don’t turn on the oven and walk away for 15 minutes

[As for the dog?  I phoned animal control when they opened at 8 a.m. the next morning, and they gave me the owner’s phone number (the pup had a city license tag).  Here’s our phone conversation:

“Hello?” (Owner answers the phone in sleepy voice)

“Good morning, I think I have your dog.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a big white dog, very friendly?”

“Yeah.”

Pause

“Well, I have to leave for work in an hour.  Could you please come pick her up?”

“Ummm, sure, I’ll come get her.”

Twenty minutes later, she shows up.  Turns out, she lives two blocks away from us.  Takes the dog, and gives me her address in case I find her dog again.

I don’t think she knew her dog was even missing.  If I find her dog again, I’m phoning the pound, and she’ll have to pay the $250 fine for having an animal at large.  Grrrrrrrr.  Irresponsible pet owners make me mad.  It was -15 C that night.  How could you not know that your dog was missing!? ]

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