Cute, isn’t she? And tiny. Tiny enough to be stepped on, if not for the fact her human will flail and hop around like a Cirque du Soleil act gone horribly, horribly wrong to avoid crushing her.
Okay, so SK’s a kinda-short 9.5 year old. My husband’s truck has a switch so you can turn off the passenger-side airbag. My car does not. Today was SK’s last day of school and he got out at 12:45. Because I had to do an extra errand this morning because my husband forgot something, I was able to guilt him into picking the child up.
Mr S: He can’t ride in the front, can he?
Me: I usually let him, if TK’s not with us.
He went out the door and I was halfway to the kitchen when I realized he’d taken my car keys. That was just about the time I heard my car start. I turned and started to run which, along with the cursing, caused the dog to fear something horrible was happening on the porch. Her path to the door coincided with mine, her barking and me swearing like a drunken sailor.
So began the ballet from Hell while I tried to get to the door without stepping on my cute, tiny dog. Wrenched my knee, stubbed my toe, knocked my wrist on door trim and broke a nail, but I didn’t kill my dog and managed to catch my husband in time to tell him, no, SK can’t ride in the front seat in the car.
Lesson learned: next time, very calmly hit 2 on my cellphone’s speed-dial and tell him what it is I need to tell him.