Mom on the Run: Wrapping up some loose ends

So … inquiring minds want to know! In response to many requests:

An Ending

The midnight phone call … I jerked awake, heart hammering, grabbing at the phone when it rang at 12:30 a.m. But the phone rang, and hung up; the phone rang, and hung up, leaving me … terrified, wide awake, knowing midnight phone calls are almost always emergencies.

So who was calling? Believe it or not, nobody. The midnight calls turned out to be a dying phone's desperate cries. The phone went completely silent after the third 12:30 a.m. ring, then beeped forlornly about 6:30 a.m. with no functioning buttons, and healthy dialtones from the other house lines.

So the bedroom phone is now unplugged, cord wrapped around it, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed. Augh. My heart beat like a jackhammer for an hour, waiting.

Another Ending

The duck egg was lying on the driveway, its mother standing uncertainly a few feet away. My dogs lunged at the duck and she flapped off; then I stood and worried about the egg. It wasn't in a nest, it wasn't near a nest, it was right out in the open. So carefully I slid the egg into my jacket pocket and carried it home and, after some thought, half-buried it in the warm sand of our lizard's terrarium, with a fleece hat over top to keep it from being crushed.

Per internet instructions, my hopeful son and I rotated the egg, flipped the egg, misted the egg. And once a week, optimistically, we carried it into the dark bathroom, where we held a flashlight up and studied the shadows for change. We wanted a duckling!

The rest of our family said there was no way the egg would hatch.

The rest of our family was right. After five weeks of solemn, deliberate care, we gave up. Nothing, sadly, was happening. And, "That's really going to stink if it breaks," we heard over and over. So into a thick plastic zipper bag the egg went, and out into the trash. The pink fleece hat went into the wash and back into the closet.

Now every time I see the hat I think sadly of the duckling that

almost was.

And Part II of a New Beginning

Jack the adopted dog has adjusted very well. We've had him since mid-February and it seems like he's always been with us. He trots easily up and down the stairs, doesn't even try to eat out of his sister Janie's dog bowl anymore, and no longer collects all the toys and places them just within reach of his bed.

Nope, he's settled on tennis balls as his toy of choice and generally can be found with one in his mouth, carrying it around, squeezing it occasionally, just delighted to have one with him always.

And there are other surprises. Jack has become territorial, he doesn't want anybody but his family coming into his wonderful new house. He's still not sure how to play with other dogs, though regular visits to the dog park are helping. He doesn't like necklaces, he tries to nibble them off, but he's stopped destroying mechanical pencils. I'm worried about his ground-down teeth -- you can see a pink spot in each canine, which I'm afraid is an exposed and painful root -- and I think it's going to be a while before his system is used to regular, nutritious meals.

All in all, Jack looks and acts nothing like the starving, nervous stray we brought home, and he's very happy. Especially when he has a tennis ball in his mouth.

But we will miss Petey forever and always.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at liannewilkens@hotmail.com.