My Dogs are Smarter (Than me!)

"I've got to go back upstairs and finish getting ready," I said. All I needed was my watch and wedding ring.

Normally, I'm the first one up in the morning and I let the dogs out and feed them while I eat my own breakfast. I crate them and head upstairs then for my shower and return downstairs only after getting dressed. This works well for my wife who represents the ultimate antithesis of "morning person."

Today we did it a bit differently. We left one car in the shop over the weekend. That unexpected outcome combined with the fact that my wife had a doctors appointment scheduled for mid-morning necessitated our getting up earlier than usual so as to leave about 30 minutes earlier than we normally do. This gave me the luxury of getting ready prior to attending to the animals.

I should have known I was in trouble when I ignored my limited-fashion instincts. Rather than substitute with another shirt, I followed the "just wet it and put it in the drier for a few minutes," advice when the shirt I chose came out of the closet wrinkled like a 100-year-old prune.

The dog-chores went off without a hitch: let them out, get mauled and smothered under the onslaught of doggy affections, let them outside, fix breakfast. They returned inside within the maximum allowable time-outside-without-supervision, which was a good thing. See, I was running around the house shirtless while waiting for the drier to release the shirt back to me.

BUZZ!!!! Great, it's done! Well, not so much...got it too wet, it'll take another 10-20 minutes...(#$&@#($)!!!!!!

Back to the dogs...where are they and what are they doing? Sitting quietly for a change. A nice change since most mornings they play-fight and I'm reduced to silly sounding things like, "Let go, sister's head is not a chew toy!"

Finally the drier sounds it's finishing cry. About this time my wife came downstairs and we repeated the happy-puppy attack; more tail-wagging and jumping and mad displays of doggy affection for the new arrival. "I've got to go back upstairs and finish getting ready," I said as all that finished.

First thing back in the bedroom, I grabbed the missing jewelry and went into the bathroom for some last-second grooming. Our bathroom is part of the "master suite", not a separate room so there is no door just an open door way. On the wall behind my half of the double-vanity we've hung a small curio cabinet and loaded it with tea-light candles and cute photos and such. Well, as I'm heading into the bathroom I bump the cabinet off the wall and onto the hamper.

As I do, curios go flying...a tealight and it's ornamental holder go THUD, landing in the tub. Another falls quietly behind the cabinet on the top of the hamper. Sadly, another and it's glass holder make that hair-raising, can-be-heard-for-miles-around sound of breaking glass on the tile floor. "Oh, no...! She's gonna kill me," is all I can think.

Downstairs I can hear my wife finishing with the dogs, getting them in their crates and ready for the day without mom & dad. As I'm standing there in shock, taking in the devastation I've wrought I can hear the determined sound of footsteps on the stairs. Running, up the stairs...and into the bedroom. Before I can even think to say, "Watch out, there's glass on the floor!," my wife comes running into the room, look of terror on her face saying, "What happened!!!!??," and promptly steps barefoot onto a small chunk of glass.

I'm reeling at this point, and now I must administer first-aid. Ten minutes and three Band-aids later, we've finally stuanched the bleeding and my wife can don her shoes and head back downstairs. Adding insult to injury, we left the glass strewn across the tile because we had no time to clean it up--my little adventure left us running 15 minutes late!

So to recap:

1. I broke at least one of my wife's "pretties", possibly damaged her curio cabinet ( a gift from her folks, no less!) and
2. Tried my hardest to chop off a toe or two in the process.

What a great day...did I mention that the shirt was still damp when I took it out of the drier?