The wee hours of Monday morning ushered in an hour long coughing fit that was so strong it left me gagging and thinking my meagre dinner would be repeating itself. As I lay in bed gasping for oxygen, I questioned if I had it in me to attend a full day planning meeting. In that moment my vote as a strong NO! But when the alarm woke me up, I decided it didn’t hurt to try… some input was better than none.
I will admit I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t pass out during the meeting. The level of alertness I was able to maintain throughout the day, is a testament to the makers of Sinutab and Vicks. Needless to say by 4:00 pm I was jonesing for my bed, a fluffy pillow cradling my head, the sweet caress of PJ’s and the warmth of being ensconced in layers of blankies. The only thing standing between me and this dream were 20 paws that demanded exercise.
In fairness, the Dudes had been patient all weekend with their main exercise being trailing behind me from the couch to the bed, bed to washroom, washroom to couch, etc. If I was in their shoes, I would be full of piss and vinegar too. I decided the most economical use of my remaining energy was to give each of them some “yard” time in the semi fenced in area. They could run and I could stand in one place and concentrate on not falling over. Each dog had 10-15 minutes of freedom and then we all promptly found a spot on the couch to plop down for the evening.
I managed to make it to 8:00 pm before I admitted defeat and started the process of night time toileting. First out was Brie, who got a little extra yard time, as she tends to dawdle when toileting on the leash. Unfortunately, I made a mistake and left the front door open allowing the others to survey the comings and goings of the street, from behind the safety of the screen door. Lyndy was the first to sound the alarm… a dog was approaching from down the street. The other ladies decided that they needed to add their voices to the chorus to make sure Brie and I knew to be on high alert. I trudged back to the front of the house with Brie in tow to stop the Barkfest. It was then and there that I decided that all the ladies would be sleeping in crates that night… I couldn’t handle anymore jack assery, as my patience level was critically low. I let Brie in the house, hooked Whisper to the tie out rope and went to the vehicle to retrieve a portable crate to use for the night.
There was a steady stream of muttering as I entered the house and started setting up the crate. All I wanted was simple and bed. But what I was getting was extra steps and effort which was vexing my soul. I swapped Ferg for Whisper and promptly delivered Whisper to crate 1. A handful of treats being tossed into crate 2 made fast work of housing Brie. Next on the list was Hazel.
As I was zipping up the roof of the portable crate, Hazel jumped in. Awesome! My joy at the fast crating was quickly replaced with mild irritation, as Hazel kept trying to leave while I zipped up the door. A string of swears convinced her it was in her best interest to remain where she was. All that was left was to let Lyndy out, crate her and I was free to head to bed.
I called Lyndy and nothing.
I called her again… nothing.
I shook the treat jar while calling her… still nothing.
What is HE double hockey sticks!!!! She was picking the wrong night to decide she didn’t need to come when called. I hobbled up the stairs (yes in addition to a cold I also have a leg injury… SURPRISE). I get upstairs, but there is no Lyndy anywhere.
WHAT!!!
Where the eff could she be?
I head downstairs calling her and shaking the treat can and still nothing. I look all over the main floor and down in the basement and there is no sign of her. That is when it started dawning on me that maybe she pulled a Houdini and snuck out of the house when I was letting Brie in or when I went to get the crate. She typically has awesome door manners but just the other day she made a break for it when I wasn’t looking. It was only because I caught a flash of her motoring to the backyard that I found out that she had escaped.
I don my shoes and a jacket and head outside ready to shame the crap out of her. The only problem was there was no Lyndy. She wasn’t in the yard or in the truck. She had vanished.
Crap, crap, crappity, crap!
I shuttle Ferg inside, grab a leash and start my parade of shame around the sniffy block. Picture it 9:00 pm on a week night, me limp “speed walking” in my jammies, shouting Lyndy’s name very 5 steps, my head on swivel scanning the streets and yards for a glimpse of her lithe form, all the while straining to catch a sound of her bark. I was getting frantic. The first person I ran into hadn’t seen her. The second person reported the same. She wasn’t responding and I couldn’t see her. My brain was going through possible scenarios’ each going from bad to worse
SCENARIO A
She was still in season and as I was walking she was being impregnated by a neighbourhood dog… CHRIST!
SCENARIO B
She ran and found another dog and was now getting into a scrap… was that reactive barking that I heard in the distance????? No, no, no!
SCENARIO C
Someone has picked her up and she is now gone for good.
SCENARIO D
She was hit be a vehicle. Emergency vehicle sirens sounding at the same time as this thought did not help ease my angst.
I hobbled around the sniffy block as fast as my injured leg would allow. By the time my house was in sight I was resigned to the fact that I would need to call the Breeder to fess up to my failure and hope that she didn’t decide that I was no longer a suitable foster home. I was a broken person as I entered the door… physically, emotionally and spiritually… DEFEATED!
I had one job… to keep the dogs safe and I messed up big time. I entered the house calling her name. It came out sounding like a plea… a prayer.
SILENCE!
I fought tears and my rising panic as I went from floor to floor, again, searching for a clue as to where she went, dreading the call that I knew that I needed to make. Still no sign of her upstairs. As I searched the main floor, again, a voice in the back of my head said… check the crates!
Only Whisper in Crate A. Brie stood alone in Crate B. I stood over Crate C with a mixture of hope and dread and started to unzip the roof. Imagine my surprise when not one but two heads popped out of the opening.
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| Dramatic Reenactment of that moment |
She must have snuck in right before Hazel when I was zipping up the roof. I stood there shaking my head. The dog that barks up a storm at a mere hint of something hinky in the house or in the hood remained silent while I called her and used treats to tempt her reveal her location.
I was overwhelmed with an odd combination of elation, irritation and relief. She was alive, well and I could breathe again. Breathing ended up being my undoing. My congested lungs took exception to my “speedy” jaunt around the block and decided that now Lyndy was safe they could voice their displeasure. I started coughing and couldn’t quit. The coughing fit came on so quick and so fierce that it overwhelmed my bladder and I ended up peeing my pants.
Yup. There I stood hugging and kissing the dog, hacking up a lung and wetting myself. Such a magical moment! Needless to say all those big feels and the leg cramping from sustained walking were not overly conducive to sleep. It took some major confessing and mediation to get my trepidation down to the mellow adjacent level needed for slumber.
And now you know how I aged 1000 years in a mere 20 minutes and Lyndy won the Best Hide and Seeker Award for all of the 2000’s!
I'm sorry you're ill, but omg this is funny. I'm so glad it all worked out. I had to laugh reading about her popping out. KD
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