Panicdemic

"Don't let Bailey out! Don't! Oh, no! Oh, no! Don't let her go!" Mom explained. "I'm anxious about her leaving me! DON'T!"

"Bailey is looking at a bug on the screen, Mom," I said, wonderfully dry.

"Just don't let her get out. There's a leash law. My mean neighbors will call the police on me if she gets out."

"Speaking of neighbors, have you made any friends yet? You've been at Wind Crust for almost a year now."

"I say hi to people in the hall. I'm friendly."

"Those are passersby, Mom. If that qualifies as friends, then I have several hundred thousand friends. But they don't call, they don't write..."

"Bring me Bailey. I want to vacuum her face."

"What?"

"I want to get the Cheeto out of her folds. Hold her."

"If I had a milk bone for every time a lady said that to me, I'd have no milk bones."

Mom revved the engine on the handheld vacuum. I picked up Bailey; she squirmed around in my arms.

"Settle down, buddy," I said. "You're just going to get sucked, hard."

The vacuum suddenly died. Mom looked at it.

"It doesn't work! Now what?"

"Here's the instruction manual. The troubleshooting guide might help [true facts]:

The use of this vacuum cleaner can not be inhaled, such as the burning of the cigarette.

Strict in the sun under the sun, the use of the need to place in the light

When the vacuum cleaner does not work, please check to see if there is enough electricity 

("I guess we need to check the amp voltage. Do you have a voltage meter, Mom?"

"What?")

This product if dry and wet dual-purpose, when water absorption, please pay attention to timely open the front cover drainage

"Okay. First, let me put out my the cigarette. Now open the front cover in a timely manner. Let the drainage begin!"

"Oh! I got it working. Just hold her. I need to get the butter out of her nose."

"Boogers, Mom. They're called boogers."

"Bailey, no...! She just got my glasses! Get her, Greg! Oh, don't let her get out!"

Bailey merrily ran off with Mom's glasses clamped in her slavering jaws. I chased Bailey around the apartment to Benny Hill and finally tackled her, hard. Bailey whimpered as I ripped the glasses from her. The frames were moist and the lenses were broken in fragments.

"I think Bailey ate some of your glasses, Mom. Ha ha."

"Oh, no! Get her, get the glass out of her mouth!"

"You want I should give the puppy the Heimlich?"

"I'll have your lenses barfed up in about an hour."

"This isn't funny, Greg! Did you check if her mouth is clean?"

"No. Maybe take the vacuum cleaner to her back molars?"

"What is wrong with you? I won't vacuum my dog's mouth!"

"Probably my cognitive decline talking. You know, the other day I couldn't find my slippers. I looked everywhere, tore up my whole apartment, and then I realized they were on my head the whole time ha ha!"

"Is she going to be okay? I'm so worried! I'm in a panic! I'm hysterical!"

I pulled out something from Bailey's growling savory jaws. 

"Oh! Is that my toe? I've been looking everywhere for it."

"You should have checked to see if it was on your head this whole time."

"You can leave now."

A box stood outside the door. I brought it in, getting it open. It was a giant thing of cookie dough. Mom looked perplexed.

"Why did I order cookie dough?"

"Did you order it because you were sad?"

"Oh, this dishwasher isn't working. You don't think you could fix it for me? The rubber is off on it. It needs to be glued back on with Gorilla glue."

"Always practice safe dishwashing, Mom. And, no, I will not put a rubber on the dishwasher. Maybe you should apologize to the dryer for what's going on around here."

"You can leave now."

Bailey seconded the motion, growling satanically.

"Okay, okay. I'm out of gambols and jests anyway. War."

But am I? Tune in next week/month, dear reader, and find out. (Spoiler: I am.)