OPERATION BABY KISS RETRIEVAL

I truly believe that Justin and I are the universe's favorite reality show. I'm convinced we don't see aliens because they're all sitting at home watching As Montrose Road Turns...

Yesterday's episode was ratings gold.

It started with Clover. At some point while she was alone in the yard, she found a baby groundhog—what Justin calls a "Hershey's Kiss."

We never saw what happened. Did the baby wander into the yard? Did she break out of the electric fence? Did she simply find it somewhere?

We have no idea. We only know that we found one very tiny, very dead little baby in the front yard.

Justin carried it into the woods. Problem solved.

Or so we thought.

Hooligan had been inside the entire time. He never saw us. He never saw the baby. He had absolutely no business knowing it even existed.

A few minutes later, he was let out of the house and he marched into the woods, found the exact spot where it had been left, picked it up, and came trotting proudly across the yard with his prize.

The image that absolutely kills me is Hooligan proudly parading through the yard while Justin and I slowly realize what was happening.

Justin:
"...is that...?"

Me:
"No."

Justin:
"...it is."

Me:
"HOOLIGAN! DROP THE BABY!"

Hooligan:
🏃‍♂️💨
"THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL MY GROUNDHOG."

At first, Hooligan and I stood there staring at each other. He looked at me. I looked at him.

In my head, I was thinking, "We've trained for this. We've got this."

I called out a command again: Hooligan - LEAVE IT!

Hooligan looked directly into my soul.

"Mother... today I choose violence."

He threw his head back. I watched the baby start sliding down his throat.

And he took off running.

Then the puppy brain, operating on approximately half a walnut's worth of processing power, reached a decision.

Danger detected. Must protect treasure. EAT FASTER.

At that moment, every dog trainer on Earth understands exactly what happened.

There are levels of reinforcement. There are proofing exercises. There are distraction drills.

And then there is:

A four-month-old Irish Wolfhound puppy has acquired a forbidden woodland delicacy and believes this is the greatest day of his entire life.

At that point, all the training textbooks quietly close themselves and whisper, "You're on your own."

It's easy to look like a good trainer in a quiet environment with a pocket full of high-value treats. It's a whole different game when you're standing in the middle of the yard with absolutely nothing to offer that can compete with a recently deceased baby groundhog.

So Hooligan did what dogs sometimes do.

He acted like he paid his own vet bills and ignored me completely.

Thus, the chase was on.

I yelled for Justin to run around the other side of the house and cut him off.

In my head, we were a tactical team.

Mission: get the dead baby groundhog away from Hooligan ASAP.

Threat: One giant puppy attempting to swallow the evidence.

Assets: One six-week-old replacement hip, one pair of functioning legs, sheer panic.

Support: Justin will flank left and cut off the suspect.

Operation Baby Kiss Retrieval had begun.

I launched myself into a dead sprint fueled by adrenaline and maternal fear.

Somewhere, my orthopedic surgeon suddenly looked up from his coffee, sensed a great disturbance in the Force, and whispered, "No... she wouldn't..."

He was wrong.

My new hip was sending increasingly frantic emails to my brain.

HIP: I would like to formally object.

BRAIN: DENIED.

I rounded the corner expecting my tactical partner to have the suspect boxed in.

Instead...

Justin's version of events apparently went something like this:

"Huh."

"Puppy's got a groundhog."

"I imagine this will sort itself out."

Meanwhile, Hooligan was operating under his own protocol.

Acquire dead thing. ✔️
Run. ✔️
Mom is chasing. ✔️
Dad appears unconcerned. ✔️
Consume evidence. ✔️

Then I realized something.

Justin was not, in fact, participating in the tactical operation.

I looked at Hooligan. I looked at the rapidly disappearing Hershey's Kiss. I considered my six-week-old new hip.

And I made a command decision.

Today... we tackle a wolfhound puppy.

I launched myself at Hooligan and somehow caught his tail. Hit the ground. Got back up still hanging onto him like I'd just roped a calf at the Texas State Fair.

One hand in his mouth. Prying his jaws open. Half the baby already down his throat.

And then...

Justin just walked up.

Not running. Not diving. Not executing a flying tackle.

Just...

"...Whatcha doing?"

I believe my exact words were:

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE! GRAB THE BABY'S HEAD BEFORE HE SWALLOWS IT ALL!"

Thankfully, the emergency extraction was successful.

Hooligan was deeply offended. He was also extremely proud of himself.

I am fairly certain he still believes we stole his snack.

Hooligan:
😳
"This family has absolutely overreacted to my snack."

Justin:
🤔
"Well... this escalated quickly."

Me:
🤺
"I AM HOLDING THIS ENTIRE OPERATION TOGETHER WITH SPITE AND TITANIUM."

Meanwhile, Clover was sitting not far away from the chaos like a teenager who accidentally started an international incident.

And can we just take a moment to appreciate how gloriously weird our life is?

Most couples:

"We watched Netflix tonight."

Justin and me:

"We conducted an emergency extraction of a deceased baby groundhog from the throat of a giant puppy while preserving a six-week-old hip replacement.

Also, we still have absolutely no idea how the puppy found it."

After twenty-five years together, this probably doesn't even make our Top Ten Weirdest Relationship Moments.

Some couples have a cute story about dancing in the kitchen.

We have:

"Remember that time I told you to intercept the giant puppy carrying a dead baby groundhog, and instead you took a leisurely stroll while I tackled him with a six-week-old hip replacement?"

Honestly...

That is not just a relationship.

That is a highly specialized emergency response unit with very questionable communication protocols.

And I already know how this story ends.

Years from now, old-man Hooligan, grey in the face and roughly the size of a small horse, will be lying by the fireplace.

I'll point at him and tell visitors, "Do you know this goofball once tried to swallow an entire baby groundhog while running from me?"

He'll slowly open one eye.

And if dogs could talk, I'm pretty sure his answer would be:

"In my defense, I was four months old and it seemed like a solid plan."

To which I will naturally reply, "You almost made me dislocate my brand-new hip!"

And Hooligan will blink once and say, "Counterpoint... I almost got the whole thing down."

No guilt. No remorse. No character growth whatsoever.

Just the quiet confidence of a dog who still believes history would have judged him kindly if his mother hadn't intervened.

And somewhere, across the stars, an alien producer looks at the ratings for As Montrose Road Turns...

📈📈📈

"Should we renew for another season?"

Another alien stares at the latest footage of Nutmeg (our orange and white cat) stealing and burying a dishwasher magnet under the rug with exactly three pats - like he's the feline version of Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory.

"...Renew it?"

"...This is the best show in the galaxy."

🐺❤️👽