Trapped

So this morning I woke up to the most awful noise. Something between a cry and a choking noise. Then the cry built up into a wail. Once I realized the noise was coming from outside my dream of aliens born in thunderstorms (don't ask), I opened my eyes.

Instinctively, I knew it was my dog Ginny. She probably just saw a rabbit. My window was open and I walked over and barked out her name. The sound stopped and I sat back down on my bed. High pitched squealing followed. How could a dog that small be so damn loud?

So, I reluctantly, even though it was after 10 am, made my way downstairs and out to the dog pen. My other dog Chelsea was sleeping near the gate. I thought it was lucky she was deaf so she didn't have to be battered with this arsenal of noises.

"Ginny! Ginny!" I began to yell. I checked the doghouse. Not a glimpse of white fur. And then a small moan. I am the most terrible pet owner on the planet. My dog is hurt. Where is she? I begin to panic, running all around the yard. And now, of all times, she has chosen the time to be completely silent. I think I hear a moan again from one yard over and run around the house to check it out. Nothing.

I then hear voices from the other side of the house. I begin to run around again when I look down at my muddy bare feet. I realize I am currently staggering around in the mud with major bedhead, talking to myself, and wearing only a baggy t-shirt and underwear. I have become the character from every scary movie that I yell at my screen to stay away from.

I dart in the door to the house and throw on some pajama pants. I think maybe I should call someone and grab my cell phone, only to drop it right behind the couch where, I know from experience, it will take a team from Ocean's Eleven to get out. I take a deep breath and walk outside again.

After a few laps around the back yard, I finally see a tiny bit of white fur from under the deck. Her nose is covered in thick mud and her chocolate eyes are pleading with me for imminent rescue. She has dug a hole under the deck and trapped herself in. I run over and immediately start digging. My hands turn brown and I speckle my dog with the same color.

After several minutes to no avail, my dog turns her head and nudges a big stone next to our hand/paw dug hole. I stop digging and realize a Jack Russell Terrier has just outsmarted me. I pull out the stone and, alas, there is a gap big enough for her to slip through. Once she is out she starts running around the yard, shaking mud off everywhere she goes.

She then comes over to me and those same brown eyes that showed sheer panic moments earlier look up at me like I'm an angel. She follows at my heels as I head back into the house. I think the whole ordeal wore her out.