Patience of a Saint

Sleeping has been difficult lately, but the last couple of nights have been a bit more challenging. When the kids are not here, we sleep with their little dogs, Socks and Oreo. Mom and Dad have taken the kids to Lake Texhoma for a few days, so we are keeping Lizzie, Dad's Mini Aussie. Lizzie expects to sleep in the bed too. It's only a queen size bed. Lizzie is just the right size to be wrong. She's too little to stay outside and be a real cowdog, but she's really just a little bit too big to be a lapdog. She's also a little too energetic to be a house dog, but that doesn't prevent her from being one. I describe her as a cowdog for the house. All houses need a cowdog, right?

Lizzie is homesick for her dad and boys, and last night she slept between Ray and I, as close to me as she could get. This means that her feet were in Ray's ribs the entire night. Apparently, at 5am, Ray had all he could handle. He picked Lizzie up and moved her to the foot of the bed. Well, at the first sign of movement, all little dogs think that it is time to get up and go outside to potty. That's my job. I put the dogs out, and sat in the den and waited on them. In the meantime, Ray fell back asleep.

After letting the dogs in, I headed to my bathroom using my phone to light my path. Just as I reached the bathroom and turned on the light, I heard Lizzie growl behind me. Now, this part of the story happens in less than a second. I noticed Lizzie growling at a sticky mouse trap on the floor that should be in Ray's closet. My brain is trying to process why it is OUT of the closet, and as my brain thinks, "MOUSE", the mouse starts to squeal. I should also mention I have an irrational fear of mice. It's not just fear. It's more like I'd rather face an ax murderer than a mouse. I slammed the bathroom door shut as I locked it, but just as I did, I could see that Lizzie was going after the mouse. My brain was racing a million miles an hour:  "I do NOT want Lizzie eating a mouse in my bedroom. And if Lizzie gets stuck to the sticky trap, Ray has to get her off because I can't help. There's still a mouse on it." While all of this is running through my mind, I have the bathroom door closed, locked, and am standing on the toilet screaming, "RRRRAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!"

Now remember, Ray is dead to the world asleep. He is clueless as to what is going on. All he knows is that his wife is in the bathroom screaming as though she is being murdered and one of the dogs is by the bathroom door barking. He doesn't know the dog is barking at a mouse. He doesn't know I am screaming over a mouse. I could hear the sheer panic in his voice, but I couldn't open the door, I couldn't stop screaming, I couldn't explain myself. I just sobbed. Knowing how ridiculous and irrational the entire scene was, I still couldn't get a grip on myself. I finally managed to tell Ray to turn on the light through my sobs.

Of course, when Ray turned on the light and realized all this commotion was over a little mouse, he was a little furious. I don't blame him. I would have been furious too. Once the mouse was out of the house, I was able to leave the bathroom. I was still sobbing. Again, I know it is irrational, I just can't help it. Ray had calmed down by that point, and helped me to calm down too. Over a mouse.

Ray called from work this morning to ask what we were doing for dinner, so he has plans to come home to this crazy woman tonight. That man has the patience of a saint.