While hubby was taking care of business the dogs were romping and playing and having a ball. When it was time for gun play, the dogs were settled in to the back of the Chevy Tahoe with a snack and some water. Normally, hubby closes the back of the truck, just keeping the window up so the dogs can sniff and keep an eye on things. This time the hubby decided the dogs - neither of whom care for guns and one of whom has anxiety attacks with the noise - would remain in the truck with the back hatch fully open. [I have to remind myself sometimes how I didn't marry him so much for his brains]. So yeah, after shooting for probably an hour or more, hubby returns to the truck and . . . that's right, you guessed it . . . no dogs. In a panic he calls for them and Bobo appears immediately, but there's no Maggie. After about an hour of trying to find her, he decides to call me to say, "Honey, we can't find Maggie."
I gotta say, I was extremely proud of myself that I didn't start screaming at him for being such a loser dumba** moron f*cking a**wipe. I could tell by the tone in his voice he was scared to death and beating himself up. Adding my displeasure was unnecessary and would have accomplished nothing.
Over the next five hours, I created a Lost Dog flyer with her picture, and emailed it to the Friend [he earned a capital letter]. Friend put his own cell number on it and printed about thirty copies, which he and hubby posted around about a 1/2 mile radius. Just as hour six began, a neighbor spotted Maggie zig-zagging down the street, alerted Friend to her location where she was subsequently found.
She's obviously hurting but I guess that's what happens when one is scared and walking/running around lost for 5-6 hours with no food or water. She's rapidly returning to normal on a treatment plan of cookies, kisses and NSAIDs.
Hubby has learned his lesson. Hopefully the dog has as well. And if either one of them does something as bone-headed as that ever again, they're dead because I will kick the sh** out of them.