Safe and Sound

I think I'm a helicopter dog-owner.  You hear the 'helicopter parents' that they talk about on television - the ones that hover incessantly, smother their children with love, attention, or... well.... just physically hovering.

I'm trying to get better at it and let the two dogs play unattended in the evenings when its getting dark.  I figure that the impending nightfall will keep them fairly close.  Last week; however, this theory did not hold water. I left the little girls alone outside to play while I went inside to fix supper.  Ten minutes later, with very little daylight left I started my usually holler and whistle routine and expected the need to defend my lower legs from blue heeler wrestle-mania.  Just like normal.

I hollered (we don't yell around here) and hollered and hollered till my voice started to crack and I couldn't possible do it anymore.  By this time Wesley had come home and I sobbed my worst fears to him: the little girls had run off and would never come back and we'd have to get new dogs someday but I didn't want new dogs because I liked these two and they were irreplaceable, etc.  You know, typical irrational fears.

I cried the rest of the night, didn't sleep very well, got up the next morning before light and cried through my shower.  (Yes, I realize I sound like a toddler but dangit - I was sooooo sad!)  I got out of the shower and it was starting to get light.  I walked to the window just like I do every morning (reference one of my first posts on this blog.)  I looked at their pen and said through my sobs "Good morning little girls."

Just then I saw something move in the bottom of my eye.  I looked down to see two little girls curled up next to our bedroom window, looking up with the saddest, most forlorn looks on their faces.

Their apologies were accepted, needless to say.