Like all things I blame on the dog, it was my fault: I taught puppy-her never to go downstairs at night. Eight years later, it’s less cute that she needs someone to watch her pee at 1:00 am.
Faint light bled up the stairs.
Lucky me, I thought, The Boy is on the computer.
With him downstairs, all I had to do was shoo the dog down. He could let her out. One problem: she knew I wasn’t downstairs. I swung my leg over the lip of the step, faking her out.
I blame the dog, I told the doctor.
Microprose isn’t just for micro weeks. This week Christine double-dog-dared me to write about a fall in 100 words. I made it… exactly.