I began this post in the middle of the night last night, following a little excitement here in the Rhyne household. I couldn't wait to share my tale...or was it a tail? Hmm...anyway, it's now Saturday afternoon and I'm tired and punchy and in need of a nap. Here's why.
To begin with, Zoe and I are both fighting a little cold, or allergies, I'm not sure. Suffice to say we both have the sniffles.
When Zoe started making noise around 1:45 this morning, I was pretty sympathetic. I don't sleep well when I have the sniffles either. We both tossed and turned for a while - my brain was flying through my stressful, I-have-a-trip-coming-up to-do list, and she just couldn't get back to sleep. I finally gave up and came downstairs to read, giving Zoe some space to hopefully fall back to sleep on her own.
I should add here that my dog, Quentin, was sleeping in our laundry room, because even though he's a full-time outside dog, he's also a fraidy-cat dog who is terrified of thunderstorms. Last night was a dark and stormy one for sure, so he was inside. Recently, though, he pooped on the floor during an overnight stay, so I was toying with the idea of letting him out and locking him in his outside dog run. He hadn't peed since about 5, when the storms started.
Before I could do that, however, Zoe got for-real upset, so I went upstairs to get her, thinking a quick dose of Benadryl (generic brand - I am up to date on my recalls) and some couch time would be all she needed to go back to sleep fairly quickly.
But then, I happened to mention to her, while changing her diaper, that I needed to put Quentin outside.
"Mommy, I want to help you!"
Of course she did.
Even though it was by then 2:30, and it was dark and creepy outside, I agreed (against my own inner voice that said, "This is a bad idea, Leah.")
So out we went. There was still some sporadic lightning but no more thunder, so Quentin seemed excited to be outside. He darted across the yard, into his run, with much enthusiasm. Zoe and I followed with less.
Suddenly, I heard a growl, and something like a hiss, coming from the dog run. Then something else started to hiss in a nearby tree.
It could only be one thing, which has happened before. Yep, my dog had cornered an opossum that had decided to snack on some dog food. In these situations, I'm never sure who is more afraid - the wild animal, my dog or me. And this time I had to keep Zoe in mind, too.
I took off at a jog, Zoe bouncing along on my hip, calling (loudly - I'm sure my neighbors loved me) Quentin to COME! RIGHT NOW!
He didn't. Instead, he dove into his little doghouse, now as afraid of me as of the opossum.
Sigh.
I didn't want to lock him in with the opossum (Don't they carry rabies? Plus it looked like a baby, and I didn't want him to kill it.), but I couldn't exactly haul him bodily back into the house while also carrying Zoe.
Who, at this point, was terrified by my continued yelling. The poor thing was trembling in my arms, both hands thrown up about her face to cover her eyes and hide.
Sigh.
I had no choice. I left Quentin and the opossum outside in the dog run and ran back inside with Terrified-Zoe to enlist some help.
"Charles," I said, hovering over the bed.
"Blurgh," he said.
I explained that Zoe needed to be held with him for while I took care of a Wild Animal Situation outside.
Which I did. Free of a petrified (and heavy) toddler, I ran back outside, still in the very dark night that was only occasionally lit up by dangerous looking lightning, hauled that puppy back out of his doghouse by his collar, and slammed the gate behind him. He ran across the yard, stopping only to pee (hooray!), and flew back into the laundry room, relieved to be safe and opossum-free again.
I followed, again with less enthusiasm, and spent the next 45 minutes or so with a still-wired Zoe, who finally wanted her own bed (instead of the couch and me) around 3:15. I stumbled back to bed and somehow, still, was wide awake at 6 this morning.
Sigh.
At least Quentin didn't poop on my floor last night.
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