Knock and the door won't open

We're pet sitting right now, so we have three dogs in the house. My big dog Timmy, aka Big Butt, dd's neurotic canine Boo, aka Butthead, and our neighbor's dog Colin who, because his owner is Scottish, will only come when you call him with a brogue.

He is, as she says, "a wee dumdum," or, as we say, as dumb as a rock.

So, I got up a couple of days ago, and had six pairs of eyes staring me down, waiting to go out. Hubby has four legged creatures only against his will, so he doesn't let them out, and they know not to bother trying. So they wait for me. Indiana being Indiana, and perimenopause being perimenopause, I had gone to bed in a cotton nightgown, only to be met with blustery cold the next morning when I walked them out to the corral. Sat there freezing myself to death, waiting for Timmy to go. His speeds are Slow and Stop. Waiting for Boo, who goes nuts every time he sees a bird. It's spring, so there was a lotta craziness going on, and not much pottying. Colin, thank God, is a good boy who gets to the point, then goes to the door.

I finally gather them up, and head to the door with the herd, only to find that the screen door is stuck, and I can't get it open. And I'm stuck outside in my cotton nightgown. In about 35 degrees. DS was up, but upstairs, and wouldn't hear me if I was standing right next to him, cause he's rather blonde. So here I am, thinking what the heck am I gonna do, cause I can't get in, and we don't have a doorbell. And the neighbors are definitely out of the question, between the nightgown and the three dogs -- I'm not sure which would scare them more.

I finally remember that, despite our robbery of last year, hubby never seems to remember to lock the doors. Maybe the front door is open, but I'm gonna have to go around front with three dogs, two of whom will take off like lightening if anything moves. Did I mention that I'm in my nightgown? I grab Butthead by the scruff of the neck, give Big Butt the look, and yell "Cullen" in the best half-awake-but- freezing-to-death Scottish brogue I can muster, and head up front. Had to dodge the porch swing, which hubby had just put down the day before, at my request. Kept yelling at the mutts, asking if they wanted a treat, and hoping the neighbors weren't looking. Oh, and praying that the door was open, cause I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't.

Thank God for forgetful husbands, cause the door was indeed open and I finally got in, with only a little frostbite in strange places, but with all three dogs intact.
Then I went and taped the defective part of the back screen door down, so it won't happen again.

And set out my flannel jammies for the night.

Can you imagine if I'd been in this
marabou peignoir. Kinda like Zsa Zsa meets Queen Elizabeth, with my pack of mutts (ok, so Colin is a champion Westie, but you get my drift). It would at least keep my neck warm, and I'd look good. Maybe a little overdressed for my hood, but it's beautiful nonetheless, and since most of my neighbors are gay guys, they'd think I looked great. And maybe ask to borrow it too, I don't know. It's from the store named after me, Old & Beautiful, at Main Street Vintage.