Friends, I almost killed our dog today. I understand! After 11 years of kinda-sorta hoping she’d silently “disappear” (since I am not an animal fan and because, naturally, I’m the one who became her main caretaker), I should have unconsciously looked for to accelerate that end. I’m awful. Here’s what occurred.
My partner, Doo, was leasing a goblin-green Hyundai monstrosity (he’d simply offered his Accord to our oldest, whose 2002 Ford Explorer had actually lastly caught a long-ago-diagnosed case of stopping working transmissionitismight she rest in peace). I discuss this reality since when I pulled into our garage with my huge old mini-van, I hyper-focused on the horrible color of said leasing and after that parked method too near it — so close that my moving traveler door carefully kissed its vehicle sis upon opening. Oops.
While I was attempting to find out how to remedy the circumstance, I just half signed up that our black Lab Libby had actually hopped into the van. I had the ability to pull Doo’s dumb vehicle forward and after that effectively close my door, however I totally forgot Libby.
When she didn’t come running for breakfast the following early morning, I started a significantly worried search of your home, throughout which I persuaded myself that I would come across her canine remains. And then I kept in mind: She was still in the car!
She had actually invested almost 12 hours secured a janky people-mover in a closed garage, after a day when temperature levels had actually climbed up into the 80s. No water, no other way to alleviate herself, no fresh air. Ugh.
She was great, however I was not. I almost killed our dog!
Peace out.
