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The Night Before I Almost Died

In retrospect, the following events may have possibly contributed to my near-death experience the next morning.

“You’re going to have to sleep on the couch tonight, Mom,” Dimples informed me the other day when I picked her up from school.

“Oh really?” I responded, a bit sarcastically.  Considering her comment was a line I would normally hear from Cap’n Firepants, my husband, it was a little disconcerting to hear it from my 9 year old daughter instead.  Particularly since, as far as I knew, I had not recently committed any transgressions deserving of this punishment – at least none that she would know about.

“It’s supposed to rain,” she sagely predicted.  And now it all made sense.  Maybe not to you, yet.  But it did to me.  Although I refused to share in her pessimism.  Or optimism – depending on whose glass with water that is not up to the brim we are staring at.

“We’ll see.”

I informed Cap’n Firepants of the Forecast According to Dimples when he got home from work.  He did not seem impressed.

The night passed normally – until about 3 A.M.

Wonderbutt, our bulldog, woke us up.  He was barking outside in his pen.  This is what he does when he wants our attention, since we have a baby gate that blocks him from The Forbidden Section of bedrooms.

Once Wonderbutt woke us up, I could clearly hear the sound of Mrs. P.I.B., our 10 year old golden retriever, frantically whining out in the hallway right next to our door.

Where she shouldn’t have been because of said baby gate.

And then the crash of thunder.

Cap’n Firepants sat up, and I groaned.

“I HATE IT when she’s right,” I said, as I got up.

I opened the bedroom door, and Mrs. P.I.B. swept past me, panting as though her life depended on it.

Out in the hall, Wonderbutt had returned from outside, and was seated on the other side of the overturned gate, waiting patiently for me to come out and keep him company.

Mrs. P.I.B. cannot sleep through a storm unless she is in our bedroom.  Wonderbutt cannot sleep in our bedroom because he A.  Snores, and 2.  eats everything.  This is normally not a problem, but he apparently does not care for being the only one on the Other Side of the Gate.  So, I am the Designated Defender, who gets to keep him company on stormy nights.

We settle onto the couch with an old comforter.  He snuggles up, and is soon asleep, though we both jump a few times during enormous thunder crashes.

About an hour later, the storm has gotten quieter.  But Wonderbutt has gotten louder.  His snores are less surprising than the thunder but just as disturbing.  I finally work my way out from under him, and stumble to the guest bedroom – the closest room to the Border that Must Not be Crossed.

About 20 minutes, I hear Wonderbutt whining very close to my door.  He has realized I abandoned him, and does not care to be alone.

I get up and look out the door.

He has carried the entire King Size comforter to the Border in order to register his protest – or communicate his loneliness;  I am not sure which.

This is a re-enactment. You will be surprised to learn, I'm sure, that I was not in the mood to take any pictures at 4 AM.

I get back on the couch.

An hour later, after a few dozing off periods broken by Stupendous Snores, I squint to see the miraculously still-working cable box time, and realize that I must get up.

I go back to the bedroom to get ready for work.

Dimples is soundly sleeping in my spot on the bed.

It turns out she is an optimist after all.

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