Dog gone true story.

So I woke up with a start at about 2 in the morning. I looked over at the other side of my bed and thought, oh my god, my dog isn’t there.

(Didn’t even think “Sampson,” just “my dog.”)

Scrambled around in the bed sheets, on the floor around the bed, under the bed, everywhere. My dog wasn’t there.

Nervously stumbled around the bedroom, into the hallway, to the guest bedroom, to the bathroom. My dog wasn’t there either.

Frantically stumbled down the stairs, thinking, oh god, I don’t even remember seeing him last night. Didn’t feed him or anything. Scurried around the house, in the living room, in the kitchen, down the basement stairs. My dog wasn’t there either.

Freaking out now. Thought, maybe I left him outside. Switched on the yard light, took a few steps out into the yard, looked around.

Thought, maybe I should call his name. Couldn’t remember his name.

Then it dawned on me:

I DON’T HAVE A DOG.