It had all the makings of a perfectly wonderful evening. The Husband was across town at a Halloween party and couldn't be expected until the wee hours of the morning. The Toddler was sleeping soundly in her warm, cozy crib, with visions of cinnamon raisin bread, Dora, and baby dolls dancing in her head. The Dogs were locked downstairs, far from my feet and hands. I had the remote in hand, promises of full TV control floating in front of me. I had an entire bed all to myself, if only for a few hours. All I needed to do to make the evening perfect was find The Toy.

The Toy was an unidentified stuffed toy belonging to one super-stinky bulldog. It was hidden somewhere in the bedroom, somewhere out of sight. But I knew it was there; I could smell it. It was the odor of bulldog slobber mixed with bulldog stench mixed with god knows what. It was the odor of a toy that she had spent hours gently gnawing, slowly suckling, infusing with her dragon breath. It was the odor that would not let me relax for even a moment. I tore apart the room, stripping the bedding from the bed, tossing the laundry to and fro, even lifting the mattress to see if it was below. It was nowhere to be found. And yet, my nose continued to remind me. It was there. In that room.

An hour passed before I located the source of my aggregation, carefully shoved into a crevice behind the nightstand. I stomped downstairs, out onto the deck, and tossed The Toy into the darkness far below. A few minutes later, I snuggled deep into the suddenly big bed and gleefully reached for the remote.

"Woof"

"Woof. Woof."

"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!"

I listened closely between each rude intrusion for a sound that would tell me the reason for the madness. Was The Husband home early? Was there an intruder? Did the neighbor three doors down blink? I didn't hear anything worth the commotion.

"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!"

For hours. And hours. And hours. As I lay awake, not watching TV, not enjoying the partial night with a bed to myself, I heard nothing that warranted the cacophony of sound from below. I waited, anticipating a knock on the door. A policeman, perhaps, to tell me that the dogs would need to be silenced. If he would have just had the kindness to appear at the door, I would have had the opportunity to say, "What dogs? Those aren't my dogs? Oh my goodness, who let two dogs into my house? Please, take them away! I can't have dogs in my house!" But no, the police did not have the compassion to appear.

The good news is that they didn't wake up The Toddler. If they had, there surely would be two less pets living in our house today.