Old Yeller...I mean, Fred

Fred (the dog) has taken to wandering the neighborhood when we let him outside to poop, which because he's old and demented, is about every fifteen minutes. Never mind that he has a "shock collar" around his neck. Boundaries mean nothing to him anymore. Apparently he's immune to pain. So, off he goes in his decrepit condition, attracting attention from all the sympathetic animal lovers around the neighborhood who encounter him, and that's when the "fun" begins. It may have something to do with the huge bulbous blood blister he's sporting underneath his eye that bleeds on demand to make him look even more pathetic (and nastier) than he already does. I think he uses it to his advantage. That, and the little humps (growths) all over his back...well he is truly a lovely sight.
A couple of days ago, PhillyTwo and I were chilling in the "Bird's Nest" (our version of a Man Cave) when the call came in. It was the Fred's vet...the one listed on his dog tag. "Your dog has been injured." Shit. I was in still my pajama pants, as I had been all day and my hair was a scary mess. PhillyTwo had just finished doing a workout, so all she had on were sweat pants and a sports bra. She grabbed a shirt and I desperately tried to smooth my hair down before we ran out to the street to find Fred chowing down on some dog food, surrounded by a group of concerned neighbors. Oddly enough, they were standing directly in front of our house, but none of them knew that he belonged to us. That's because Fred's invisible fence has always kept him in the back yard...until lately. They thought he had either been hit by a car or attacked by a mountain lion. It was the bloody eye thingy. One of them, a young boy, had brought him food, which Fred was consuming like he hadn't had a meal in a month. So, standing there in my pajama pants with my wild hair telling those nice, well-meaning folks that yes, Fred was ours, and no, he wasn't injured...he always looks that bad...and yes, we do feed him...well, I don't think they were buying any of it. Nevertheless, we thanked them for their interference, I mean, their concern, and PhillyTwo picked him up and we turned tail and marched back into the house.
I hate that damned dog.