This morning, as my husband kissed me goodbye, seconds before my alarm went off, I woke up enough to ask where Olive was. I moved my feet back and forth under the covers, searching for the foot of the bed dog, and she wasn't there. My husband said he didn't know. I patted the two dogs on each side of me and could tell by their smooth fur that they were not the fluffy badger one I was seeking.
I got up and looked around the house: couches, chairs, crate. No Olive. I went upstairs to see if she had snuck up to be with the kids. No Olive. I put on my jacket and went outside in the dew wet grass and softly called her name. No Olive. I checked the alley and the streets and was starting to have worries of dog-knapping. I sent a text to my husband.
"Babe, seriously. Where is Olive?"
And within a minute of that text, I was sending one back to him that said, "Never mind. Found her." And I didn't want to elaborate on the wheres and hows I found her, but he called to check on the great lost dog case of 2013, so I had to admit where I found her.
That lump of covers at the end of the bed? Not a just a lump of covers.
Olive is found, in bed where she always is.
Seriously? I sure hope my losing a dog in our bed isn't an indication of how this Monday is going to continue!