Who Let the Dog Out?

Ever notice how the flavor of any given day can turn sour on a dime?

In today’s Authenticity Challenge post, I have to fess up and get real here.  Sometimes I am amazed at how quickly a small incident can change my attitude.

Let’s take a look at today: Everything was running smoothly.  Matt was off on a trip. The kids had been exceptionally good, and everything was under control.  Elise was invited to a birthday party and it was nearly time to go.  Just as I was about to give the call for coats and shoes, the doorbell rang.  I looked out of the upstairs window and saw three neighborhood kids at the doorstep.

“We’re late for the party. Don’t answer it!” I called out to Elise and Alec. I waved at the kids and called through the window that we were leaving and that my kids could not play.  Just as I was doing that, however, I heard the front door open. Apparently, Elise had not heard me.  As I watched my little Shih Tzu scuttled past her legs and bolted out into the muddy front yard.

The kids squealed and began chasing our dog, Pogo, up and down the street. Elise ran out in her party clothes to join in the chase.  Unfortunately, two other neighbhorhood dogs were out, too, and were eager to play.  By the time I got out the door to join in the mud parade, Pogo was bounding up a hill after a dog into a neighbor’s backyard.

Now mind you, it has been raining here – no, let me rephrase that – it has been pouring here for two days. The ground is drenched.  So here we were, four kids and one mom, chasing three unruly dogs up and down hilly front “yards” (actually mudhills) trying to catch a little runt of a dog who can run like a jack rabbit.

Here is where I could have stopped and had a good belly laugh at how idiotic we all must have looked, coated in mud, running from house to house after a pack of wild dogs. But no, I was exasperated, yelling to all of the neighbhood kids, “GET THAT DOG!” at the top of my lungs.

By the time I could get my hands on Pogo I must have had steam coming out of my ears.  I grabbed my little guy and trudged back down the neighbor’s hill, through the muddy front lawn and into my front door.  I looked down and notice I was wearing heels… muddy, soggy heels.

Mama was not happy.

But now, I’m thinking it probably was a funny scene to watch. Life is messy.  I need to learn to roll with it.

Right now, I need to sign out and give Pogo, the muddy pile of fur in the corner of the room stinking something awful, a good, long bath.