Morning routine was smashed for 15 minutes after I discovered my dogs, probably Buddy, had pulled my purse off the dining room table and strewn the contents through the house. Only a few things were destroyed like a tube of hand cream and the plastic bag that contained extra batteries for the digital camera. I was grumbling, putting things away when my breath caught in my throat.
"Where is my wallet?" I said out loud, looking accusingly at my dogs who had guiltily slunk into their room.
I looked under the dining room table, the den/dog's room, the living room, the kitchen, and came back into the dog's room to plunge my hand into the crevasses of the couch. No wallet. I did come up with a bone that had been missing for some time and wondered briefly where the hell the dogs had found it since I had checked that spot before.
My chest felt tight. Visions of chewed up credit cards, picture ID, and other assorted bits churning around in Buddy's stomach haunted me as I became more and more frantic in my search. Matt got up and came downstairs to help me look. We searched all the same rooms I had been through before.
As I stood in my office pondering the slow death of my dogs, Matt called out, "I've got it!"
It had slid under a cabinet I hadn't thought to look under before. There were teeth marks on the cover, but everything inside was intact.
A huge sigh of relief escaped my lips as I began to put everything back into my purse. The adrenaline rush wiped me out.
That was enough excitement for one morning.