Scott and I have a morning ritual that consists of me, waking up at the very last-minute, and driving him to work. We do this for a couple of reasons.
- We share a car. Dropping him off means I’ll have the vehicle during the day if I need to run an errand over my lunch break.
- Some days, I teach a fitness class right after work. I need the car so I can leave immediately and then pick him up after.
- Scott likes to make an 80 ounce “power smoothie” every morning, and drink it straight out of the pitcher. Driving while maneuvering a mammoth kale shake is nearly impossible, so I kindly take the wheel while he slurps up his beloved antioxidants.
Clearly, the third bullet point is the most important.
Yesterday morning was no exception. I scrambled out of bed, slapped on my snow boots (yes, it’s still snowing here), and summoned Jolie. Jolie always comes with us as the drive to Scott’s office doubles as her bathroom break. There’s a large field behind the clinic and running free across the wide, open space while relieving herself is certainly the highlight of her morning. Obviously, I always make sure to clean up after her — I’m not a believer in “natural dog composting“, like my husband.
As we make this trip every single morning, Jolie has become quite familiar with Scott’s clinic. She knows it’s the place that Daddy disappears to for the majority of the day, and even remembers which door to wait outside of when we pick him up in the afternoon. Her fear of abandonment is so severe, she sometimes attempts to sneak through the back door so she doesn’t have to face the day without Scott snuggling by her side.
Yesterday morning, she was successful.
This was problematic as it took me a good thirty seconds to realize she had actually infiltrated the Smalltown Dermatology clinic.
I rushed through the door in a panic, forcefully whispering her name as I searched two different hallways, the kitchen in back, and the receptionist’s area. To my complete dismay, she was nowhere to be found.
I took a deep breath, pulled my hood up over my head for disguise purposes, and quickly peeked in to the waiting room, which as luck would have it, was absolutely full. There was Jolie, defiantly prancing around Scott’s patient’s feet with utter delight. Upon seeing me, she rolled over on the floor and released a happy growl.
I hastily made my way to her, scooped her up in my arms, whispered a quick “I’m so sorry!” to the woman seated closest to me, and made a beeline for the exit.
(If a free-range chihuahua in a medical setting isn’t inappropriate enough, I should also mention I was clad in sparkly pajama leggings, high-heeled rain boots and an enormously exaggerated down coat. Makeup and hair had not yet been dealt with.)
The woman met my apology with a genuine smile and giggle. I didn’t check to see how the rest of the patrons had responded…quite frankly, this was one of those situations where ignorance was bliss. I grabbed Scott on my way out the door, quickly explaining to him Jolie’s impromptu parade through the waiting room.
“Relax, Katrina.” he assured me. “She probably just wanted to see about getting some Restylane injections. Her neck folds just aren’t what they used to be.”
Welcome to my life.
(Although Scott does kind of have a point about Jolie’s neck folds.)