Last week, for a wild 10 minutes, we thought Minnie had gobbled down a car key.
There was a flash of her tongue, scooping up something red, and Grandma screamed, “No, Minnie!! Drop it, drop it, drop it!”
Of course, she didn’t drop it. Ha! Not our Queen of Stolen Snacks; not in a million years. When she saw us approaching, she scampered off in that sketchy way she does when shenanigans have happened.
After much chasing, we caught her. Dad held her maw open while I poked around, looking for the bright red Tesla key fob. “Please don’t have swallowed it,” I whispered as she growled, honked, and eventually wriggled away.
Dad raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head.
We held a brief meeting. Came up with a plan. The only way to figure out if she’d swallowed the key was to take her near the car, jiggle her a bit and see if that unlocked the car doors. But first, I wanted to be absolutely sure.
“Are you positive the key isn’t anywhere else?”
“I am. I’ve looked everywhere. She must have eaten it.”
So we chased her once again as she ran laps around the kitchen island. We involved Grandma too, whose job was to block off one end and flush her out the other.
It worked. Dad scooped her up, and to express her abject disapproval, Minnie went limp and boneless. Huffing and panting, he carried her into the garage, where the Tesla stood.
I glanced at Dad.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said and held Minnie’s belly.
The car stayed silent, and Minnie growled.
Walking around to the other side, we tried it again, adding a little shimmy for good measure. Our calculations showed it would be in her stomach if she *had* swallowed the key fob. So we danced around some more, presenting her belly first to the Tesla, like a pair of unhinged witch doctors.
The car stood there silently. By then, we were sweating; Minnie was getting big mad, so after a few more rounds of this nonsense, we gave up.
Minnie waddled off to sulk after one last look of disgust, and we were still one key short.
“So, what do you think next? The vet?”
“I guess so. The key has batteries in it, right? That can’t be good for her.”
We sat there scratching our heads when the Tesla clicked open.
Dad leaped up like his pants were on fire. The cabin lights had come on, so the key must be nearby.
“MINNNIIEEE!!” he roared. “COME BACK HERE!”
We were about to restart Operation Catch and Jiggle™ when Grandma called from the bedroom. “Hey! Wait! Wait. I found the key!”.
“What? The Tesla key? The red one?”
“Yeah, it’s lying here under your jacket. Look! Minnie didn’t swallow it after all.”
Much finger-pointing ensued. Dad swore he’d checked that very spot while I puzzled over how the key had unlocked the car from such a distance.
But Dad’s eyes had that manic gleam of a man who has finally seen the light.
“The garage is right on the other side of this wall, get it?!” He banged on said wall maniacally to make his point. “When Grandma moved the jacket to check underneath, the key must have inched closer and unlocked the car.”
A heavy silence, pregnant with guilt, as the poet Keats would say.
With a smirk on her face, Grandma walked away.
Oh, we were in a boatload of trouble. Her royal fluff had been roughed up and jiggled, all because her humans couldn’t get it together to find a key fob.
We walked to the hall, where I spotted an upturned paw on the other side of the couch. It was now or never.
We tiptoed deferentially and rubbed her tummy. She looked away.
We kissed her head. She harrumphed.
We begged for forgiveness. She wiggled her snout and sighed.
So finally, we resorted to bribes. Holding our breaths, we waved cheese and crackers in front of her nose.
Minnie glanced up. Recalled the indignity of the chase. Thought back to her pink belly jiggling like jello. Remembered the cruel beep of the car.
And she decided to forgive all simply because she’s a sucker for cheese.
I’d like to say we lived happily ever after. We almost did — for 2 whole hours.
Until she stole some of her toddler brother’s toast, and all hell broke loose again.