I've been seriously slacking in my posting lately. I'm sure all 4 of my regular readers are terribly disappointed in my recent absenteeism. My apologies. So here's a story that proves to me why I shouldn't be responsible for children:
I got home from class tonight and couldn't find my dog. (The hubby is out of town, so no one was here.) I didn't really think anything of it, because we'd been wracked by severe thunderstorms all afternoon, and he's really gun-shy. I expected that he would be hiding, but he wasn't under the bed or in his kennel, which is where he usually is. I figured he would just come out when he wanted to. I took off my shoes and opened the closet to put them away, and there's my dog--sitting right in front of the closet door. (And this is not a walk-in closet, friends.) He must have ducked into it sometime after I changed for class, but before I left, when I went in to close the door to make sure he--ironically--didn't get into any of my shoes while I was gone.
I got home just before 9. I left at 5. My poor little chihuahua was stuck in my closet, during a thunderstorm, with no food or water, for 4 hours! I'm such a terrible mother! He's still acting very skittish. I'm telling myself it's because there's still thunder and lightning outside, but I'm freaking out that I scarred my poor dog for the rest of his life. I cannot believe I shut that poor baby in my closet all evening. It makes me want to cry!
Never. Having. Kids. Ever.
