The other evening, while sitting on the patio with my husband discussing the day, my dog – Gracie – indicated she needed a drink of water. She did so by holding her canteen upside down and showing me that it was bone dry. Such a smart ass.

So, I opened the sliding door to the kitchen, let her in, and then shut the door behind her. She still never closes it on her own. I always yell at her about being born in a barn or something, which really pisses her off because she was born under a carport – thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, we use one of those 2 x 4s as a double-locking mechanism along the rail of the doorway…yes, I realize a burglar could just break the glass if they really wanted to get in, but we use it anyway when we’re gone for any length of time.

So, Gracie came back to the door and accidentally stepped on that piece of wood, which made it flip over and naturally, it landed right on the rail.

First thought: Oh, shit. That bitch locked us out of the house!
Second thought: I knew I shouldn’t have made that barn remark.
Third thought: That bitch!

My husband and I both looked at the wood, then back at each other, and then back at the wood again.

Shit! What were we going to do?!

Having had years of military experience behind us allowed for quick thinking in a time of crisis. Both of us did what we had been trained to do in these types of situations: screamed at her repeatedly to open the frickin’ door!!

Gracie, meanwhile, started doing the Snoopy dance all over the kitchen with her tongue hanging out and tail wagging as if everything was just fine, and for her, it was.

We knew we were screwed because we always lock the front door and there was no way else to get in…aside from breaking a window, which I wasn’t ready to do just yet.

I got down on my knees to her level and tried to negotiate with her, but she had no use for a helicopter or a million dollars. Besides, the dog treats were inside. I knocked, pointed, and begged as though she actually understood what I was saying. Of course we all know, to her it translated to, “blah blah blah Gracie blah blah Gracie”.

She stared with delight at the tricks I performed for her. And while she paced back and forth, watching, her paw inadvertently tapped the board and it moved – slightly – but not enough to allow entry. Although it was enough hope for my heart to beat a little stronger, and my tail to wag a little faster.

Knowing she gets more excited to see my husband than me, I told him to sweet talk her and get her all hyped up enough to possibly hit the board again until the golden moment arrived for me to throw the door open.

There he was, his manliness, kneeling at the door, talking like a little girl, behaving as though he was just as excited to see her, even though he really wanted to kill her. (men cannot be trusted, but that’s another story)

Upon seeing this, she started jumping and hopping and getting crazy like she does and hot damn, if she didn’t step on that wood. When it flipped over I knew I had only seconds to open the door.

I’ll tell you, that door slid open faster than Oprah’s mouth at a free buffet. We both ran through the door hooting and hollering and doing a victory dance of our own as though we’d been locked out for weeks. Which it seemed like, although, it was only about 5 minutes, but life can get rough in the back yard without any provisions.

Of course, we promptly moved that 2x4 to a secure place so that would never happen again. At first, she walked a little funny, but she's getting used to it now. (no, I didn't really do that but the thought did cross my mind)

However, she will have to figure out other ways to lock us out in the future. But don’t worry; I already deleted the locksmith’s phone number from her cell. She thinks she’s so smart. Heh.