My dog is adorable. He's Harley. He's a lab-boxer mix, with dopey ears and big brown eyes. He's the friendliest dog ever, but he is a coward. He hates thunder and lightning. Usually during a storm, we put him in the garage and close the back door, and he's all right. A storm came up last night, I am made to understand, but Harley was in the garage, so he was fine. Or so we thought.
My dad's been working on our twenty-something-year-old Oldsmobile, and it's in the garage at the moment. This car has everything wrong with it-- the air conditioning is broken, the rack-and-pinion is completely screwed up, the radio rarely works, the overhead light never has, the armrests have fallen off the doors, the knob at the end of the automatic gear-shift has come off, the steering wheel is cracked, the windows won't roll up, the carpet is torn, the driver's-side door refuses to open, the left-hand blinker just comes on and stays on without blinking... and so on. My dad has been trying to get it up to code, so he can have it licensed, so we can drive it. It still runs extremely well, which is why we've kept it.
My dad went out to work on the car this morning. The back door was open, so he assumed someone had let the dog out of the garage. So he went about his work. After a few minutes, he looked up, to see a forlorn pair of brown eyes peering at him through the windshield.
Apparently last night, during the storm, the back door had blown open. Feeling threatened and scared, Harley looked for a place to hide... and jumped through the rolled-down window into the Oldsmobile to hide in the back seat. I guess he couldn't get himself out after he got inside, and so he just waited there until someone came out and found him.
That dog kills me.