Sunday morning. Sunday school. My third, fourth and fifth grade girls are talking about the birthday party they attended the previous evening:
She does not like him!
Yuh-huh! Does to! She likes him but he never liked her. She likes Matthew but he likes...
At the back of the class, a self-proclaimed "mature" fourth grader stands to her feet. "Y'all," she pleads. No one listens. "Y'all!!" she exclaims, louder. No one pays attention. "Y'ALLLLLL! YAAAAH-LLLLLLL" she yells, silencing the class. Everyone turns to look at her.
"Save the drama for Obama," she says, and sits down.
This morning. Early. Millie and I are in the front playing fetch. I go around the side of the house to get another tennis ball. (Millie nearly choked on a stick last week, so now I'm super paranoid.) I come around the corner to see no sign of Millie, and a four-door car with two suspicious-looking guys speeding away. No Millie. I look everywhere. I scream until my throat hurts. I run down my street, up another street, yelling. No Millie.
Five minutes later I'm at the police station. "Chief, somebody took my dog," I blubber. Officers come out from behind their desks. Two patrol officers get a description of the car. The man officer looks at the woman officer and something passes between them. She nods and leaves. Tracy, the man officer, says, "I think we may be able to get Millie back. We'll try."
"When you find them, could you please just shoot them?" I ask. He looks at me.
"Okay, then could I borrow your gun and shoot them myself?" I add, hopefully.
"Go home," he says. "We'll call you."
I didn't. I drove around with the window down, yelling. I passed Mrs. Carpenter, who, upon hearing of the situation, told me that's what I get for not keeping Millie inside. I told her if she ever sprays Round-Up on my blackberries again, I'll spray Round-Up on Prissy, her dog. I'm upset. I drive off. Great. Now I've threatened two people in half an hour. I explain to God that I'm terribly upset and promise not to shoot anyone or spray poison on any mean Old Lady Carpenter's dog if only I could get Millie back.
About thirty minutes later Millie is found. Unharmed. Alongside an apartment building two streets over. She acts as if nothing has happened and seems annoyed at my greeting. The police are thanked. As they drive off, I start pulling Millie in the direction of Freeman House. She doesn't want to go. "Come on, Millie," I say. Then, "Save your drama for Obama."
This day already feels four days long, but I leave within the hour to go meet Mike Huckabee. I adore Mike Huckabee. He seems like the kind of guy you could tell all your lame little stories to - like how the girls in your Sunday School class say the most hilarious things and how your dog gets snatched and the police department goes on alert. He seems like the sort of guy who would nod and laugh. That's one of the things I like about him. Anyway, I have to leave early for this thing because Millie is staying with my sister since I refuse to leave the little dog anywhere unattended today.
We can't have any more drama. We are, after all, apparently saving it for someone else....