I’ve written about this before, but was forced to rethink the story. Why? We went over to this particular friend’s house for dinner in January and I noticed the dog door–as in really looked at it and the logistics. I took some less than stellar pics as an afterthought. You can see them below to get a better grasp at the dimensions. For reference, I’m 5’6″ and I was very flexible.
When I was seven months pregnant I had to crawl through that dog door to get into their house. Fortunately, they had a range of dogs and the top range was on the larger size. I would have to say a medium large-sized dog. Say, a 75 pounder. The largest dog was so geriatric that she couldn’t get through the dog door and that’s why I had to go check on them during the middle of the day for my friend’s dog/house sitter. She had just started a job and wasn’t able to break away during lunch.
No problem, right? I was free and happy to do it. Best laid plans, people. Best laid plans.
I had the wrong set of keys, unbeknownst to everyone. It was an accident–the spare set was dropped off at my house before they left. When I went to use the key it slid into the lock but wouldn’t turn. I tried every door on their fortress of a house and I even looked around at the windows.
I was sure that a neighbor was going to call the police on me. I was casing the joint, super intent on getting in. I looked as if I didn’t care.
The thing was, I really did care. I was a little desperate to make it into the house, let the dogs out, and get out of the Arizona summer heat. It was July for crying out loud. I finally had to admit defeat and make some calls to both partners. I got voice mail and left messages.
I found some shade, trying to decide how long I was going to wait for return calls and direction when I got a bright idea to check to the side of the house where the dog pen was. Dog ramp to the house…
In one last ditch effort, I tested the dog door. Bingo! I was in like Flynn. I just had to convince the pack that I was a “good” guy. I really wasn’t in the mood to be chased away or bit. Remember–very hot, very pregnant.
So I crawl up the ramp, talking to the dogs (there were 5 or 6 at the time), and the flipped up the door to check the mood. They were actually gathered around–all these doggie faces looking down at me, happy to see me; so I maneuvered me and my growing belly in as the pack moved back to give me space.
So, here’s the kicker of this retelling: I didn’t realize how small the door was until we went over there for dinner before Monkey went back to college. He was the baby in the belly, by the way. Here’s a couple of pics (for edification purposes, only 😁).
My friends called back after I had made it into the house and all was good. They felt terrible, by the way, but I told them not to worry. “I let the dogs out.” Of course, they wanted to know how I managed that, and they were shocked. 😂
This is a long bit to tell you that memory is a funny thing. I’m usually a master of hyperbole, but I shocked myself this time. I remembered slipping into their house with a just a little pause because I didn’t want to catch my belly or rip my shirt, but mostly because to door was so “big.” Hello. That’s not a big door. The quick pics I took don’t do the size justice. It’s tall as far as dogs go, but I don’t generally walk on all fours and I have broad shoulders. Let’s not forget I was front-loaded, either.