Really. It was. It was dark, and it was stormy. It was the stuff campfire stories are made of. It wasn't exceptionally stormy - the rolling thunder was distant, but it was still out there. It was, however, extremely dark.
Daughter 2 had crawled in bed with us about 1:30-ish. (The kid slept so much better as a baby!) At that point, I noticed the thunder and continued to doze. In my sleep-like state, I thought I heard one of our doors open. But who's going to be opening doors at two-whatever in the morning. I continued my snoozing with Daughter 2 securely fastened onto my back.
I heard the door again. I was sure of it. Or was I? Maybe I was getting into a deep enough sleep to dream, but not deep enough to stay sleeping. I elbowed Daughter 2, and clamped my eyes shut hoping to return to and stay in dreamland. In the distance, the thunder rolled. (Name that song)
 |
| This is how dark my bedroom is PRIOR to my screaming and turning on every light in the house. |
I had been asleep long enough for Daughter 2 to make her way against my back again. My breathing had just become even when I heard the whimper. I sucked in my breath and heard it again. It was Daughter 1. I held my breath and heard it no more; Daughter 1 must be dreaming.
I attempted sleep again but my eyes barely blinked when I heard the next noise. It was breathing. It was heavy breathing. And it wasn't coming from me or Daughter 2 or The Dad. I held in my breath and listened. Then my mind became fully awake, and I fit all the pieces together: the door opened, Daughter 1 whimpered, someone was breathing heavily in my room.
Oh crap. This is the stuff Unsolved Mysteries was made of ...
The breathing continued. I rolled over onto Daughter 2. The breathing continued. I wondered what I should do. The breathing got closer. Should I call 911 and hope the breather wouldn't rip the phone from my hand? Should I bolt from the bed to check on Daughter 1 and leave Daughter 2 and The Dad unprotected? Should I lay still hoping the breather would just leave? 10,000 thoughts flooded my petrified mind.
Then it was breathing on me. I screamed! Daughter 2 screamed! The Dad screamed - kinda like a girl even, but that's neither here nor there. Bo the Dumb Dog barked.
Bo barked? Yes, Bo barked.
See, I only call Bo the Dumb Dog. The truth is this: Bo's not dump at all. He does, however, hate storms. He hates storms so much that when it does storm anywhere it the tri-state area, he'll bang on the back door. He's banged on the back door so much that he's torn the screen off. He's torn the screen off and now - if the back door is not locked - he can jump up and paw at the handle and open the door. He'll then jump through the not-screened-in door and apparently sneak into our bedroom breathing heavily.
I'm just glad I didn't call 911.
