Skip to main content

Mr. Dunn and the Case of the Missing House Elf

The thought has kept me restless for two days now.
I can't sleep. I can hardly eat. My mind wanders because the thought is always there, poking into my consciousness, and into my unconsciousness.
I must solve the mystery if I want to regain my normalcy:

Why has our house elf forsaken me?

I've never met nor seen the little guy, but I know he graced our lives for several years.
I know he was around when I was a kid. He kept our house on Headquarters Road nice and tidy.
I know he was around in college. My roommates liked to point out to me how the sink stayed clear and the living room was relatively in order.
Then he vanished when I graduated. He was gone for years. I like to think he was traveling the world, getting to know himself.
He returned when Cherish and I started living together, and he stuck around, keeping the apartment, then the house and yard, clean.
Then this summer came, Aug. 1 to be exact, and he vanished.
I've been left with most of the cleaning (I say "most" because I think he's popped back here and there; I'm sure he folded the blankets in the living room this morning, for example, but I'm not sure that pop-in elf is him; it's probably some nearby house elf who just feels sorry for me and my plight).

The missing elf's case
At any rate, my house elf is gone, and I want to find him, so I've launched a missing elf's case. I'm on the hunt, and I WILL FIND MY ELF.
I don't have many clues to go on, but here are a few theories I have:
  • Our house elf is having a midlife crisis and will be back soon, likely with some overpriced and sexy cleaning equipment.
  • Our house elf has been kidnapped by the Irish House Elf Mafia that provides "protection" to house elves in the Nashville area.
  • Our house elf doesn't like babies, young kids or teenagers.
  • Our house elf was eaten by the pregnant, free-roaming chihuahua next door (it's a nasty little thing).
Clues
I have very few clues, but here are a few:
  • Willow has two missing socks. Might our house elf have taken them to cover his footsies for his journeys? Or did the chihuahua eat them as an appetizer?
  • Several batteries in our smoke detectors and garage door openers simultaneously died. Might our house elf have taken them and replaced them with dead batteries?
  • Mysterious tiles have popped up in the kitchen and dining room. What's with this? Are they clues to the elf's disappearance or is my wife planning a remodel?
  • I've never seen the house elf, but I have a thought of what he might look like. See the accompanying picture.

Please help
If you have any information about our missing house elf, please leave your comments here.
If you have a picture of him, please post it here or message it to my Facebook account.
I'll keep you posted on the case.
Wish me good luck.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

With baby comes packing (and a lot of it)

Willow, Che and I are traveling to see the grandparents, aunts, cousins and Mos (or is it Moes or is it Mo's or is it Moses?) in Henderson, Tenn., this weekend. And that brings up one of the big differences between being a couple without kids and being a couple with kids: packing for travel (they even have an app for that, God bless us packing-weary parents). Back in my pre-child days, packing hardly mattered, probably taking up 1 zillionth of a tenth of a percent of my brain capacity to do (six days equals six days of socks and underwear plus some T-shirts, some shorts, a pair or two of pants, put on some shoes, throw in some toothpaste, and I was off). That's hardly the case anymore. Take, for example, if you have a spit-up-prone baby. Do you take two burp clothes, four, eight or, maybe, 16? Better take 24. And how many diapers do you take? Or wipes? Do I need to take baby medicine? Is it going to be cold or warm or cold and warm or warm and hot then ... AACK!!! You get t...

Willow's morning of play, play, play exhausts poor, old Dad

Willow's playtime universe continues to grow. Rapidly. Witness. In the midsummer heat, I take Willow out to our shaded backyard in the morning to play. And play she does. She climbed into her swing first. After I pushed her for a while, I got her out of the swing and put her in her wagon so she could help me convey bags of sand from the garage to the backyard to fill her sandbox (part of her new swing set) and her water table sandbox. She took rake and shovel and played in the sandbox for a bit. Then she waddled over to the deck and started to climb the steps to get to the water table. She played in the sand a bit, but most of her time was used dipping water up and out of the water part of the water table. Most the water ended up all over her. After that she wanted off the deck to go back to swinging. Instead I retrieved the new tricycle Cherish procured from a Franklin recycle center and cleaned it up. Willow loved the trike, holding on to the handle bars while I pushed her...

Daddy gets the afternoon all to himself

Few times in the course of stay-at-home daddyhood does an event like this happen. This, indeed, is historic. I get to take my tail out of this house and go do whatever I want (within legal, moral and ethical bounds, of course). By myself. Alone. Indeed, I say ... indeed. Cherish's mother and grandmother are coming to take care of Willow for the afternoon, giving me a much-earned afternoon to myself. And this is what I'm going to do: I'm going to find the manliest, biggest-waste-of-time, money-wasting, violent movie I can, and I'm going to lay down my wife's hard-earned dime, and I'm going to watch that movie. My pick: "Immortals." I read in the local paper this morning that "Immortals" was rated at only 1 1/2 stars. It's supposed to be a horrible movie. Good. I'm going to bask in the crappy escape from baby poo. I'm going to inhale the smell of stale popcorn and that what-the-heck-is-that?-pee? odor. And I'm going to ...