The Weezer story
"Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent."
"The names are not changed in this story. The parties are guilty."
A drive home would be necessary to pick up some fishing gear and the keys to the boat. As I pulled in I could see my little Dachshund barking in the front window at my approaching truck. Weezer is a hand-me-down just like the rest of my pets. He had been in an abusive household, and my staff had been able to rescue him at an early age. This little double-dapple castaway had come to my family with various neurotic tendencies. His cute little foibles both exasperated and amused my family. He seemed to hate strangers from the get go and would bark incessantly when a stranger showed up.
After about five minutes, however, Weezer accepts everyone and turns into an attention-seeking pest—wanting both affection and notice from his new friend. We have continued to love Weezer in spite of it all.
The fateful dog decision
Weezer had been on previous sojourns in the fishing boat and would trundle up to the front and station himself like a figurehead on the end of the bow. When we were off over the water, his ears would flap in the wind like two fleshy flags in a hurricane. If anyone would come too close, he would bark with impassioned bravura. On occasion Weezer had been known to jump out of the boat at full throttle. But on this particular Saturday he would trump that minor infraction. Good judgment would fail me this day; I decided to take him with me.
Once we had driven back to the boat an omen appeared — the boat lights wouldn't work. I grumbled. I then reasoned that since the lake was only a short distance from the practice I could sneak in to the boat launch without the constabulary catching me. Off we went with Weezer circling anxiously in the front seat of my new truck.
The two of us drove to the launch pad. This was a literal event since Weezer would insist on padding over my lap and involving himself in the steering mechanism. After a few minutes of helping, he would calm down and just slobber on the driver side window.
The next two minutes are indelibly printed into my mind like a hot iron. I backed the boat and the back wheels of the truck into the water and jumped out with the engine still running to see if the boat-trailer was the proper distance into the water. When I returned to the cab, Weezer had jumped onto the lock button situated on the armrest and had thus locked himself inside with the windows up and the keys still in the ignition. All hopes of a pleasant afternoon died. The truck was so new, I had not hidden yet a spare key somewhere on the frame. I looked inside. He was innocently sitting in the passenger side by now waiting for my next move. The temperature that afternoon was closing in on 90 F. The air-conditioner in the truck was not on.