The nice thing about dogs

Last night my mom and I were putting all of the Christmas decor away – or at least attempting to. Our Christmas stuff all goes in a closet underneath the stairs in the basement. She said there was some stuff way in the back that might be okay to be donated or thrown away to make a bit more room, so I climbed into the closet and was going to pull all the stuff out that was wedged all the way in the back. It was COVERED with dust and dirt, and there’s no light in the closet, so I’m holding a flashlight in one hand, and very carefully pulling each box out with the other, moving it a bit and waiting to see if any spiders went scampering, then pulling it out the rest of the way.
So I’m under the stairs going “ugh, this is nasty,” and my mom is going “Yeah, there’s probably spiders in there.” “Waaaah!” I whine. “But probably no mice,” she says. “Probably just spiders.”
I reach for a box and move it just a bit to see if anything goes running – and RIGHT at that moment, SOMETHING FUZZY BRUSHES UP AGAINST MY BACK.

I FREAK out because there shouldn’t be anything fuzzy brushing up against my back! WTF?! I drop the box I just moved, drop the flashlight, I’m screaming, and I SPIN around…

and Auggie is standing there staring at me.

And I immediately start swearing and telling him I’m going to murder him. And he just smiles at me and wags his tail because I’m telling him I’m going to kill him again. And my mom is going “What, what?!” because I screamed, so I start telling her what happened, and it’s rather funny anyway but made even funnier by the fact that I continue to swear at the dog and threaten his life. And of course my mom starts laughing because it’s HILARIOUS. She’s seriously laughing so hard she’s in tears. And the dumb dog of course thinks something fantastic has just happened and is wagging around like a moron.

I then had to spend the majority of the rest of the night continually picking the dog up and removing him from the closet under the stairs. I picked him up once and took him over to where his little round bed is, set him down in it, and told him to lay down. Which he did while making bitey face at my hands because he thought we were playing. No, this is not a game. Neither is repeatedly going under the stairs and having me say “Auggie, get OUT.” Okay, maybe it’s a game to you, but I’m not playing.

Finally I gave up, took him out to potty one last time, and then put him in his crate for the night. After about an hour my mom finally goes “Hey, where’s Auggie?”

“Oh, I got sick of him, so I put him in his crate. That’s the nice thing about dogs, you know. When you get sick of them, you stick them in their crate, and it’s not child abuse.”