Though normally groggy through two cups of coffee, I jerked from deep, dreaming sleep to instant wakefulness in a way previously confined to a baby wailing in the night and the snick of the front door after teenage curfew. My eyes opened with a simultaneous precise awareness of the location (inside of tent), time (a little past dawn), and circumstance. A dog had just barked outside our tent.
Not a strange dog.
"Ted!" I hissed, "Toby is out!"
"No. He's not." Eyes closed, sleeping bag to his chin.
"Yes. He. IS!"
Toby sang his independence song again:
Scrambling to his feet , Ted cursed and stumbled clumsily, still half asleep, into his shorts. Zwoooeeep - the tent unzipped. Zwoooeeep - the rainfly parted.
I sat hugging my knees, listening to Ted calling to Toby and Toby clearly responding "But it's morning already!!" Going out there could only add to the cacophony disturbing the last minutes of quiet hours in the campground, right?
Or more honestly, was I just afraid to watch disaster unfold? My imagination pictured Toby belligerently protecting his campsite territory from some poor, hungover camper in Tevas wobbling his way to the bathhouse. How embarrassing.
So much for keeping the dog on a six foot lead.
Ted crashed back into the tent, using words he usually saves for home improvement projects. His keys jangled as he ran, barefoot, to the car. I heard the trunk pop. Ah, he's getting the treats. This is indeed an emergency.
After an eternity, just a minute later, Toby padded into the tent with Ted right behind. Tail erect, eyes shining, tongue lolling, he clearly was enjoying himself immensely.
Toby. Not Ted.
We sat together in our little tent of shame listening to the voices of the surrounding campers. Their trunks popped as they got out breakfast things. Hatchets began chopping wood for morning campfires. We heard footsteps on the road as folks made their way to the bathhouse. Nobody is sleeping in on this Sunday morning.
"Sooo - what was he doing out there?" I asked cautiously. "Was he barking at somebody? "
"Nope. He was doing zoomies around the campsite. He was jumping and barking in front of our tent, then running to Billy and Amber's, then back to ours. Just letting everybody know he was awake."
|Might as well get up and make coffee.|
Later, we disagreed about how he got out. Ted thinks he didn't fully zip the tent. I think there was a tiny gap between the two zipper pulls and he got his nose in to wriggle it open enough with his head. Either way, from there it was a cinch for him to crawl under the rainfly.
He couldn't possibly know how to pull the zipper with his teeth, could he? Could he?
Do they make webcams for tents?
|Looking innocent, but is he plotting his next escape?|