I took Bison, our almost 10-year-old pug, to the vet today. He's overweight, as always, we need to brush his teeth more and cut his nails, as always. The new development today was that he had a fatty tumor on his side that had to be tested. Thankfully, it was just that, a benign fatty tumor, that causes no problems and needs no treatment. His heartworm test also came back negative. Good deal. Prevention works.
So we head home. Bison is riding in the floor of the passenger's side. I drive into the garage, as always, hop out and toss my keys in the seat, as always, and as I'm walking around the front of the car, I hear this all-too familiar "CLICK." I freeze, then look at Bison. He had hopped up into the seat and put his paws up on the door and, you guessed it, locked the door.
You've got to be kidding me. "I'm sorry, I can't come pick up my kids from preschool. My dog locked my keys in my car." Who's going to believe that?!
Try as I may, I could not get Bison to UNlock the door. He was, however, successful at locking the door a second time. Amazing.
I called John, who is riding in a car full of the church office staff, as today is staff lunch day. They were finishing up lunch and graciously agreed to drive down to Flint to rescue Bison and enable me to drive back into town to get my kids, which I will do in about 20 minutes. The looks on their faces as I raised that garage door was priceless. Big grins, big waves. I was mortified. And poor Bison couldn't figure out why I was just now letting him out of the car!
Oh, Bison ...