A sock goes missing. Pens disappear. Keys that were just in your hand are gone. Eyeglasses lost. The creamer that you placed on the kitchen counter after pouring yourself some coffee, vanished. Your cell phone misplaced. The next scene shows you scratching your head as you wander around your house looking for the no-where-to-be-found items. Geez, you just had’em, where could they be?
You’re not senile, you’re not losing your mind, it’s not loss of memory, but damn, where could they be?
In my case, it was my cell phone.
At 6:30 a.m.
On a work day.
I checked my car, under the seats, between the console looking for my missing phone. I re-checked my purse and all its pockets that has been my designated personal filing cabinet – no luck. I’m not crazy, I just placed my whole connection to my life, my friends, my business associates on the table and now it’s gone. AWOL. At first I was puzzled. What did I do with my phone? I just had it.
I retraced my steps, back tracked in my mind the rooms I had just been in. I checked the coat I were wearing last, under pillows, behind cushions. No where. I patted down my back pants pockets, my front pockets, my chest pockets (phone shelf) and came up empty. I grabbed my husband’s phone and dial my number only to hear nothing, not a peep. I forgot that I had shut it off. My photo album, my phone book, my email list – gone, gone, gone. Now I was getting anxious. Where was my phone?
The clock was ticking and I needed to be on my way to work. I needed my phone. I had a committee meeting and wanted to be a little early to work to set up the conference room. I still had a little time but wanted to be on my way. Amore was picking up on my anxious state, following me as I went from room to room hunting down my cell. Dolce was nowhere to be found.
I have to admit, especially since I am talking a lost phone, I went from puzzled to anxious to frantic in about 60 seconds flat. Maybe less. The sounds from my heels tapping against the brick floor started clicking faster and faster in my desperation to locate my cell. I was in frantic mode. Amore was stirred up. Dogs seem to pick up on their human folk’s emotional state and Amore had zeroed in on mine. She started to run through the house barking her way from one end to the other. Her barks were a beacon for Dolce, calling her in from the outside. It’s standard procedure between the two of them, if one dog barks, the other will join in the chorus singing back-up. The duet woke up Malcolm. Crap!
“What the hell is going on?” a blurry eyed Malcolm growled.
“Can’t find my cell phone,” I tersely replied. I was frustrated.
“And I need to get to work!” I added.
“Try the pen. Dolce has been frantically coming in and out of the pen for the last 15 minutes, making a racket with the dog door” he mumbled as he rolled back over in bed, pulling the covers up and over his head.
The only common wall between our dog pen and our house is in our master bath. In our infinite wisdom, we placed the dog door in the bottom half of our linen closet in the bathroom. It was brilliant move on our side. The dog door is discrete, tucked inside the closet. We can close it off any time, putting the lower shelves back in place and we can shut the door to either lock the dogs outside or in, depending on the situation. It was also a stupid move on our side. During the monsoon season of the summer months, Amore and Dolce track in mud and muck throughout the bathroom and into our master suite. During the winter months, they track in snow. And, the worse of it, we hear the girls coming and going as the door flap swishes back and forth and back and forth. Of course Malcolm heard the loud swish and swoosh as Dolce entered and left through the door as he laid in bed.
I trooped around the back to the dog pen, Amore and Dolce following close at my side. Yep. there lay my cell phone, under a dog-tagged bush. Thankfully unharmed, unscathed. Dolce was the culprit. The phone perpetrator. Our thief. There was the beginnings of a hole being dug to the left of my phone. Fresh dirt nosed into a small pile, letting me believe the evidence that Dolce was going to bury her prize, my phone. That might have been a first, a dog buried cell phone. Her muzzle still had a sprinkle of dirt around the nose.
I wasn’t in the mood to laugh about it. I snatched up my phone, wiped off the remaining dirt and hi-tailed it to work. Later, after my committee meeting, after I was home from work, after my sense of humor kicked back in, I could chuckled over Dolce and the black hole. Later, Malcolm and I would have a hoot over what else might be buried in the dog pen, laughing about what else is missing.
But not now!
Now, when something is missing, the pen is the first place we look.
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