The lawyer I work for is out of town, so he asked me to watch his dog this weekend. I am in love with his dog, a giant Rottweiler named Tank who imagines he’s a lapdog. He’s not.
I went over there to feed the dog on Saturday morning, and I couldn’t find the key anywhere. I looked in all the logical places and finally called the lawyer. His girlfriend told me that he forgot to leave me a key. I asked what the best way to break in might be. She directed me to the dog door.
I groaned inwardly. Dog doors are notoriously tight places. I’m not as tiny as I used to be (although still confident that I can fit through a dog door), so I went around the back to prepare for my journey through the door. Tank saw me coming and rushed through the dog door into the backyard, his whole body shaking with canine excitement. We exchanged greetings, and once he’d settled down, I tried to get him to go through first. He refused, ever the gentleman.
I shoved my keys and phone through the door, within arm’s reach just in case something went awry, and then let me arms and shoulders go through. About the time that my hips were approaching the dog door, Tank decided that he, too, needed to be in the house immediately. He nudged me, but given that my hips were in the middle of the dog door, he couldn’t get through.
As soon as my hips cleared the frame, however, he rushed in. For a few seconds, it was Tank and I tangled in the dog door. He made it through, of course, I wasn’t so lucky. I scraped my shin against the bottom of the door frame, cursing his dog body for being so large and him for being unaware of that fact. But as soon as I got through and saw his sweet puppy face, all annoyance melted away.
We spent a very companionable weekend together, and I’m wishing we were getting a Rottweiler instead of whatever it is that my roommate has his heart set on.