So things seemed to be going as they normally do: Me- stumbling almost blindly through the house -and Doggie Doodle- running in circles around me until we get to the back door. Then things went terribly awry. I turned on the light, opened the door, and came face-to-face with:
So what did I do, you ask? I screamed and tried to slam the door shut. Doggie Doodle, though, was not about to miss out on this. How her fat gut fit through the rapidly closing door, I do not know. I can only guess that the prospect of a late night Snack O'Possum gave her temporary wonder dog speed. What could I do then? I was not about to run into the possum-infested back yard to drag Doggie Doodle back to the house. I decided the best thing to do was go back to bed and let the dog fend for herself.
Not as easy as it sounds. When I got back into bed, my heart was racing. The evil possum face kept flashing in my mind and I couldn't get back to sleep. After fifteen minutes I decided I had to save the dog. I slowly approached the back door. Heart racing. Dry mouth. Palms sweating. Gradually I lifted my eyes to the window and looked out. The dog was running around the deck with her nose down. I opened the door and dragged her in. "Doogie Doodle," I said "Why would the possum run under the deck where you are? Didn't you go out into the yard to find it?!?!?!" I love her, but she missed something in the hunting gene area. She knows she's supposed to chase other animals, but doesn't know what she should do once she catches up to them.
At least I understand her desperation to go out every night. Kind of.
The moral of my story: Look before you open.