Things were somewhat quiet at the MIL’s house today.  We should’ve figured it was too quiet and was the hush before the next squall.

     Five this afternoon I was out weeding the gardens when I saw DH hobbling to his truck.  “Where are you going?  It’s almost time for me to start dinner.”

     “My mom’s again.”  This would be trip number three for the day.  “The dog got out.”  His mother has an elderly Border terrier who, like most terriers, even at his old age is still fast on his feet.  She should have some old roly-poly dog that can’t get out of its own way. 

     “Want me to come along?  Drive you over?” 

     “No.  Go ahead and finish what you’re doing.”

     “I won’t start dinner until you get back.”

     “Okay.”

     Three hours later, he came dragging in the door.  He hadn’t found the dog.  His mother was in hysterics and we both knew she’d make his life hell if the dog never came home.  The poor man was distressed and beyond tired.  It was late, I made dinner, we ate, and soon afterwards, he went to bed.

     Around ten p.m. the phone rang, it was the MIL, some woman showed up at her door with the dog.  DH mustn’t have been sleeping well worrying about the dog, because as soon as I hung up the phone, he called downstairs and asked me what was up.  He knew it was his mother, she has a special ring on our phone, and it sounds as frantic as her constant calls. 

     “The dog is home.” 

     “Thank God.”  He went back to bed.