The first night of my trip to Florida, I was tucked into my king size bed, in the deepest of travel-ridden comas when I was awakened by my cell phone. Once the consciousness began to return, I noticed it was 1:30 in the morning and that the origin of the call was listed as “HOME”.
Well, I don’t know about you, but the first thought that pops into my head at a moment like that is: “It can’t possibly be good.” So I gingerly reached for the device, while simultaneously clenching every muscle in my body in preparation for the impact.
Imagine my shock when the voice on the other end of the call is my husband’s insanely elated one. “You are not going to BELIEVE it! You just aren’t going to BELIEVE it!!!”
Actually, at 1:30 in the morning, I will probably believe that aliens have landed and have taken over the Pentagon, but ok. On with the story.
“She’s back!” my husband squeals into the phone.
“What?” I reply, praying to goodness he isn’t referring to Sarah Palin.
“Frisky! She just showed up at the back gate!!”
Frisky. Our missing black lab. Our precious doggie who had been missing for 23 straight days. The one, who had run away in terror after the 4th of July fireworks, and I’m sad to say, we had finally given up hope of ever seeing again. That crazy girl had reappeared into our lives again!!
She was 12 pounds lighter, and several ticks heavier, but she was Frisky. And she had somehow survived her ordeal and found her way back home. I can’t even possibly explain how incredible the excited squeals of my boys sounded in the background of that phone call.
My only frustration was not being able to be there to greet her. I told my husband to tell her I was still out looking for her. (Moms know how to add guilt at even the most inappropriate times).
So yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Or at least a Black Lab Claus. At this point, I’m ready to believe in just about anything.