Locked Out

Well, it's only 9:15 am, but it's shaping up to be one helluva morning. I got up at 7 this morning to let the dog out and to get ready for my run. Left at about 7:15 to run. My husband leaves at about 7:40 for work and I told him I wouldn't be back before he left, kissed him goodbye and was off. The run went fine -- I'm not positive of my distance but it was somewhere between 5 and 6 miles (I'll have to take the car out later and retrace the route and measure the distance). But in the last half mile I had a premonition: I just knew my husband had locked me out of the house.

I don't have magical powers or ESP or anything: I just know my husband. Locking the door behind him is instinctual and I bet he checked it three times to make sure it was locked (he's a bit OCD). So I got home, tried the door, and sure enough, found myself shut out. At first I thought maybe a window was a possibility, but we have bushes that are right up against the building so unless I was going to brave the bushes, I wasn't getting in that way. Plus, even if I got past the bushes, and got a screen off, the windows would probably all be locked because my husband always checks them before we go to bed at night to ensure that they are latched. I knew the back door wasn't even worth trying -- my husband always ensures that door is double locked and that the patio door is latched (his concern for safety has made it impossible for me to break into our house).

At this point, the dog can hear me trying to get into the house and he is frantic to see me (he has a bit of separation anxiety) and he's barking up a storm: Yipping and yelping to beat the band.

So, finally I resigned myself to ringing the neighbor's doorbell. I just hadn't wanted to because it was still early and I know she has a young son and I could just tell by the stillness of their place that they were sleeping, and when I rang the bell, she appeared in her pajamas. But our neighbor is so nice and she didn't seem to mind being awakened to a sweaty neighbor and the sound of a maniac dog next door. She very graciously let me use her phone and I got ahold of my husband and he was able to leave work and come let me in. The dog, by this time, had worked himself into a tizzy.

I never take keys with me when I run because I don't like keeping track of them (ie, holding onto them or having them jiggle around in a pocket), but most of my shorts do have a small, inside pocket, so perhaps I should start making a mental note to slip the house key in there before I leave. That, or we need an extra key hidden outside somewhere -- maybe one of those fake rocks would help conceal its presence. Of course, my luck would dictate that the dog would see said rock, eat it (he has an affinity for swallowing rocks and chewing on sticks), and I'd still be locked out.