When Hearts Attack

This is a story about how my dog almost killed me. It's not funny.

This morning while I was getting ready, Brutus started making some plunger-like sounds, indicating that he was about to throw up all over my carpet. I ran to open the back door for him, and he gladly scampered outside because he has manners and he doesn't like making a mess inside.

He did his vomity business, and I waited in the open doorway to see if he was ready to come back in. He was still looking a little green, so I decided to let him hang out in the backyard for a while.

About ten minutes later, I opened the door again to welcome him back inside. Usually he comes running at the sound of the sliding door, but I didn't see any sign of him. I was sure he was hiding in his favorite spot behind the shed, so I slipped on the ugly croc knockoffs I keep next to the back door for occasions like these (and which Gary is not above wearing from time to time in a footwear emergency, even though they're women's shoes and about fifty sizes too small) and went to investigate.

I crept up to the shed and then pounced to the back side, gotcha-style, but Brutus was nowhere to be found. This is the point when I started to panic. I called his name a couple of times but received no response.

Then the crazy started to set in. At this point I was already crying, imagining the absolute worse scenarios possible while running through the house calling his name on the off chance I had let him in already and had just forgotten. I hadn't.

I threw on a jacket, grabbed his leash, and ran out the door, prepared to run all over downtown until I found him. I was sure he was dead. Huskies are born runners, so I knew the chances of me finding him on foot weren't good. Maybe I could flag down a car to help me look for him...

Except I quickly realized that wouldn't be necessary, because the moment I stepped out the front door, I saw him. He was just chillin' in my front yard, frolicking and jumping around my mailbox. When he saw me he ran up and licked my hand. Then he turned, ran up onto the porch, and waited patiently, tail wagging all the while, for me to open the door.

Naturally, as soon as we were both safely inside, I collapsed into a shaking, sobbing, post-almost-traumatic heap of pathetic patheticness.

The End