A totally avoidable doggie debacle.

It started with: “I am out of dog food for Mr. Darcy.”

It ended with: “That was a sh*t show.”

I’d known I was running low on dog food for Mr. D for days… and days. This morning, I poured the last little crumbs into his mini-muffin tin breakfast bowl. No biggie—I live close to two amazing Pet Valu shops, and I actually love visiting both.

Obviously, Mr. Darcy was coming with me. So was Lucy.

Eleven-year-old Lucy has recently become an avid hitchhiker on Flos Road Eleven—which is very bad. On the advice of my incredible behaviour consultant buddy, I’ve been taking her on more car rides so she stops seeking them out on her own.

So: two dogs. One, a 13 lbs Velcro dog. The other, 80 lbs and currently in hitchhiker rehab.

But wait—nope, can’t leave Churro behind. My son and I have shared custody, and while he’s away vaccinating fish (yep, it’s a thing), I’m hosting Churro: 35 lbs of Australian Cattle Dog brilliance… with a minor barking issue.

At this point, I feel like I could rewrite The Twelve Days of Christmas: Twelve paws-a-digging, six-ears-a-twitching, threeeeee nos-es sniffing!

I grabbed three leashes, slipped on my sandals, and out to the car we went.

And honestly, I truly believe I made zero mistakes in judgment… right up until this next moment.

Act 1: The Driver’s Door Debacle

The first door I opened was the driver’s side.

Has anyone ever seen a large, lanky Great Dane/Husky mix bound into the driver’s seat of a car? It’s a sight.(And no, I’m not repeating it for a photo op.)

Poor Lucy scampered—not a word I usually associate with her—into the car. But because she’s so polite, she didn’t jump up onto the seat. Instead, she stayed on the floor… which meant she got herself stuck between the seat, the steering wheel, and the center console.

She had no way forward. Or back.

That was my first call for help.

“Steve!!” (husband extraordinaire)

Poor Lucy knew she was in a bit of a bind, and it took both of us to gently back her out of the situation.

So… that happened.

Act 2: Pet Valu, Take Two!

I opened the back door. Churro raced into Mr. Darcy’s crate, Lucy hopped into the back seat, and Mr. D claimed shotgun. Was this my planned seating arrangement? Absolutely not.

I had a seatbelt attachment for Churro to ride in the front. But containing that little bundle of barki-ness and energy in the crate seemed like a far better idea—and she went in willingly.

I decided not to fight that small stroke of fate.

All set and off we went!

Act 3: The Parking Lot Panic

We arrived at Pet Valu.

Did I leash the dogs before I opened a door? No. Should I have? Yes.

As soon as I cracked the door open, Lucy lunged out. Thankfully, I grabbed her collar quickly—no problem.

But as I reached back inside for a leash, Mr. Darcy scurried over, around, and past us both like a little Ninja, dancing just three feet away from me.

You can imagine the horrible visions racing through my head—my tiny dog, loose in a parking lot!

Thankfully, he was clever (or lucky?) and ran straight to the Pet Valu door. I guess he knows the drill.

At that point, I loaded Lucy back into the car to contain both she and Churro. I figured I’d just run inside with Mr. Darcy. I’d only be a couple of minutes.

(And yes—Churro was still in the crate. She hadn’t picked the lock. Yet.)

But did I actually follow through on that plan? No, I did not.

Why? Because at that point, I honestly couldn’t figure out how to lower my car windows to leave them safely.

My brain had switched into core functions only mode.

So, I leashed everyone up and marched into the store.

Act 4: The In-Store Spectacle

Did it look insane? Absolutely.

Churro barked the entire time. I somehow managed to grab Mr. Darcy’s food and get it to the register with all three dogs still leashed.

Lucy had a moment with one of Shyanne’s pet ferrets. Literally nose-to-nose. Surprisingly no trauma on either side. Mr. Darcy tried to intimidate a gorgeous German Shepherd who was getting bathed nearby.

His human, watching the chaos unfold, looked at me and said—with total sincerity—“Thank God I only have one dog.”

Clearly, I was not making three dogs look easy.LOL.

Act 5: The Great Escape Attempt

Time to leave the store.

By this stage, I knew there was no way I could juggle three dogs and my purchases back to the car.

I handed Churro’s leash to Griffin (the store manager).You might ask, “Why?” Honestly… I have no idea.

She was still barking and carrying on, and I only made it to the door before turning around and handing him Lucy’s leash instead.

Lucy did a few signature Husky howls, but—true to her usual lovely self—behaved nicely while I loaded the other two dogs (monkeys) into the car.

Final Scene: The Homecoming

We drove home without any notable events (miraculously), where Steve met us in the driveway… wearing that look.

The one that said: “I knew.” And he did know.

He knew it before I left.

Why didn’t he stop me?

Twenty-four years of marriage. That’s why.

Epilogue

My parents are visiting this weekend. After I finished retelling this entire harrowing tale aloud, my dad—somewhere between laughing fits—said:

“You really need to write a blog about this.”

Lucy, Churro and Mr. Darcy

At least, I think that’s what he said…It’s hard to be sure when you’re laughing that hard at your eldest daughter.

Moral of the Story?

Leash your dogs before opening the door.

Don’t underestimate Churro.

And sometimes, knowing when not to stop your spouse is the true secret to a long marriage.