the day Lena learned a lesson...

Even dogs have bad days. 

Something embarrassing happens. 

Something painful happens. 

You hope no one saw.

But, someone did.

A few days ago, on an especially frigid wintry Wisconsin day, I let Lena out for her morning potty.

Morning potties are so much more convenient and satisfying for me now that she's almost a year old. So far in my life, there has been nothing more humbling than standing over a confused puppy while encouraging in a high, squeaky, 'you-can-do-it' voice, 

"Go potty Lena! Make a poopie! Go potty, girl!!"

All the while knowing that our sardined neighbors, having overheard me, were snickering in their warm living rooms.

Anyway. I let her out for her morning potty and went upstairs to ready myself for the day ahead. Free of an extra four legs beneath me, I put on my makeup, brushed my teeth, and tied back my hair. I went downstairs, gathered my purse and lunch, checked to make sure my keys were somewhere on my person and went down the back stairway to let Lena back in.

It was then that I heard it. Cries of anguish.

I've heard Lena cry before, obviously. Sometimes from shock or fright, other times from pain when I forget she's laying at the bottom of my feet and I accidentally squish her tail. But never like this...

She was crying, a lot. So much that, after it registered to my ears, I thought it couldn't really be her crying, she must have gotten another rabbit. It seriously sounded like an animal dying. I thought to myself, 'awesome. she got another rabbit and todd's not here to pry it from her salivating mouth...'

The crying and whimpering got worse and as I swung the backdoor open I yelled, 

"LENA!! DROP IT!!"

But, as I looked down, I did not see a limp bunny, or an unfortunate squirrel.

All I saw was my puppies' tongue, stretched out and strained.

It was frozen to the storm door.

I gasped. I yelped.

I sucked my own tongue to the back of my throat to prevent myself from the same misfortune.

With one more grueling cry, Lena pulled herself away from the storm door, and tore her tongue away from the icy aluminum.

I looked at her, my mouth agape.

She looked up at me. She looked at the door.

She licked her mouth tenderly.

And licked it again.

Without a word, I opened the door to let her in.

She panicked and backed away from the monstrosity of frozen metal that used to be the welcoming passageway for food and warmth. Eventually, and meekly, she sidestepped around the door and came back inside the house, continuously and numbly licking her lips.

Later that day, I investigated.

There on the door, a frozen web of taste buds and saliva.

An icy silhouette of a canine's bad luck.

A chilly reminder of a lesson learned:

When exploring with your tongue in sub zero temperatures, always stay away from shiny objects.

(Also, a shout-out to my mom-in-law. I owe her credit for raising such a man as my amazing husband. Mom R., thank you for birthing and raising the man of my dreams. You did an amazing job and I hope I can be as great a mom as you are some day. Thanks for sharing your son with me, he makes me so happy. Love you.)