Jasmine the Pug
Sometimes my trials as a mom come from my dog, not my kids.
Last night was a brilliant example.
My husband and I crashed into bed late and I stuck my hand under my pillow, only to find a bone.
I gave it back to my nearly 9-year-old pug. She jumped off the bed and onto our laminate/wood floors.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
We heard her nails hit the floor as she went to the loft to find a place to hide it again.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
She left the loft and went to my son’s room.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
She left the room and came back to our bedroom, then to the bathroom.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
Nope, no good places there. She went back to the loft.
This went on for a good 10 minutes. My husband rolled over at one point and said, “Thanks. You couldn’t have just thrown it away?”
Me? I was laughing hysterically. I had tears running down my eyes. I could not control my snickers.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
She went back to the bathroom. There, we heard her scratching at the TILE floor trying to “bury” it.
Finally, she jumped back in bed.
For two minutes.
Then she must have thought better of her “hiding” spot and got the bone.
Clickity, clickity, clickity…
It started again.
I was rolling by the end. So much for getting to sleep at a decent time.
Lesson learned? When it’s bedtime, don’t give the kid a toy.
