Heart-stopping Excitement

And not the good kind. Just so you know, my heart didn't stop. Literally, physically, I am fine. Emotionally, I am recovering. I was watching my son's dog this weekend (who is my dog's puppy -- my grandpuppy?) and he has been very good, especially considering that I had all three dogs here (mine, my youngest son's, and Jean-Claude). I finished my work in record time this morning and went to Office Max to make some copies. When I got back, I thought I would do a little cooking. Even though it's nearly a hundred degrees out, I baked a pumpkin pie. I also made my "healthy pasta salad". The dogs were under my feet while I was cooking, so I shooed them out the back door. The door was open wide enough for them to come in if they wanted to, but they like to play in the yard.

After I finished cooking -- no easy task in my deconstructed kitchen -- I went out on the porch to see what the dogs were up to. They were all there. I came inside to clean up my cooking mess and went back to the door to call them in. One, two, um . . . where is three? Jean was nowhere to be found. I called him and checked the side yard. No Jean. I looked in all the bedrooms. I usually keep the doors closed, but I had been in and out a few times and thought he might have followed me in but not out. Still, no Jean. I looked in the garage; I went out front and called his name. Nothing. Now I was panicking. My son and his girlfriend love that boy like he is their child, and so do I. I grabbed his harness and went to the street behind mine, thinking he may have somehow gotten through the fence. Everyone was very nice and let me come through to their back yards to check under shrubs and call him. He wasn't there. I ran back home, hoping he might have come back from wherever he went. He wasn't there.

I gather up my phone and car keys and set out through the neighborhood, driving around for an hour asking everyone I encountered if they had seen a black and tan dachshund. No one had. I was still in high-alert mode, so as long as I was doing something I was holding myself together. When I pulled back into my driveway, my son's girlfriend sent me a text saying they'd be here in half an hour. I wasn't ready to tell them what was going on -- and what could they do on the road anyway? -- so I replied with a thumbs-up. I hoped, again, that when I went inside Jean would be waiting at the back door. He wasn't. I looked around the yard some more and called him some more. Then I knew I had to let my son and his girlfriend know what was going on, mostly because if someone found him and called their number on the tag, that would be a bad way for them to find out I'd lost their dog. I figured my son would be driving, so I called his girlfriend. As I told her what was up, I started to cry. When I got off the phone, I was sobbing. I sent an email to our neighborhood web admin asking that he post a missing dog email. And then I remembered the one place I hadn't checked: my pantry. Of course, it wouldn't make sense he would have been in there for an hour and a half as I was calling him. He would have made some kind of noise and wanted to get out, right? Apparently not. When I opened the door, he came strolling out like, "Hey, what's up?" I was so relieved! I sent my son's girlfriend a text just as they pulled into my driveway. We all had a little bit of a laugh about it, but mostly our nerves were jangled as we thought about all the what-ifs. What's that trite old saying -- ah -- all's well that ends well. It certainly applies in this case.