Monday was the the day after the Super Bowl. It is a day that, selfishly, I wish was a non-work day. Not because of hangovers, but because I end up staying up later than usual, much later than I would like. I didn’t even know by the time we returned home who had even won the game. THAT is how little I really give a damn about football.
Monday was also the day that I decided to give myself a much-needed respite from running. I had been ignoring some nagging pains for a few weeks, and frankly I just didn’t have the mental energy to get on that treadmill. I decided instead to get an early jump on (yet more) working around the basement. Since Christmas I’ve been slowly prepping, repairing and removing things from our finished lower level in anticipation of painting and partially remodeling the bathroom. This extra hour and a half was a nice windfall on such a bitterly cold afternoon.
After changing my clothes, I headed down the steps in hopes of getting two particular tasks completed before dinner. The Wife™ was working late again so I had a smidgen more time than usual. I turned on the television for a little background noise and set to removing a large, very stubborn vanity mirror.
Part way into my work, I thought I heard a noise upstairs. Not enough to shake the ceiling, but enough that I thought I could detect it above the volume of E!’s shockingly intriguing story about “cursed” lottery winners. No worries. I’m sure the noise was just God telling me to turn off E!, as it tends to makes baby angels cry. I continued grunting and pulling on the mirror.
As I checked my cell phone clock a few times, I was pleased at how much I was getting accomplished. I was able to get the blasted mirror out, as well as assemble a set of workshop lights to assist me in removing the hideous backstage theater lights above the sink. I hate electrical work (because I’m far too stupid to really understand what I’m doing), but this not a difficult task, and I was able to finish without much cursing.
Having accomplished more than I had hoped, I decided to pack it up for the day and head upstairs to make dinner. The Wife™ was sure to be home soon and I needed to prepare my lunch for the following day as well. I was ascending the stairs when I heard it again…another crash…this time much louder. My mind immediately scanned for possible solutions: cold-creaking of a settling house? something falling off the kitchen counter? garden gnomes come to life to seek revenge? The smallest possibility of all was that someone had entered our home.
In a fashion surprisingly confident and devoid of fear (not how I had always pictured myself handing this situation at all) I went upstairs. As I opened the basement door, I was hit with a gust of frigid winter air, an obvious bad sign. Immediately my eyes went to the back door and noticed that instead of being in the expected state of CLOSED, it was defying me with being WIDE-THE-HELL-OPEN. “Well, isn’t that odd,” I thought, “quite odd indeed, as I surely don’t recall thinking that today was the day to air our the living room.”
Before I could even entertain the notion of finding the closest baseball bat, axe or bazooka to protect myself, the situation unraveled in full: Jonas.
Our dog, who had been spending the previous hour trotting around the backyard and snuffling in the snow had decided that it was time for him to be inside inflicting his awesomeness on other, warmer things. He had spotted some of his toys (resting nicely on the wood floor just beyond the glass door), and must have wanted inside to play. Somehow, some way, our dog pushed our back door open with the mightiest of mighty pushes, and as he came bouncing up to me with his Kong in mouth, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my dog so innocently happy. He greeted me, tail wagging ferociously, as if to say, “Hello! You’ve come to play too? Look how much fun I’m having!”
It all makes sense now. No trespassing, no thieves inappropriately violating our private world. It was instead just our dog (with the possibility of newly-acquired opposable thumbs?) simply opening the back door like any human would in order to be reunited with his play things. He chewed nothing that didn’t belong to him and only pulled my briefcase off the counter in order to sniff it (noise #1). The rest of the time he spent throwing and chasing his toys, hurting nothing.
Tonight we work on the concept of “Politely Closing A Door Behind Oneself” as well as “How Dad Needs to Lock the Back Door From Now On.” I’m also keeping an eye on the car keys, just in case he feels froggy and decides to finally take that trip to Mexico.
