Slow-Moving Sally Says:

I should have known better. When you tell a dog “we’re going out,” you need to be ready to GO. Not in ten minutes. Not after you find your shoes. NOW.

It was Friday evening, and I’d finally agreed to take Sadie out for the night. She was excited. Tail wagging at maximum speed. Doing that little dance she does when she knows something good is about to happen.

But then I realized I needed to change my shirt. And find my other shoe. And grab my wallet. And maybe put on some deodorant because, you know, we’re going to be around people.

Sadie sat by the door, watching me run around the house. Her tail wagging slowed. Then stopped. Her ears drooped. And then she gave me THE LOOK.

The look that says, “You said we were leaving. That was seven minutes ago. What is happening right now?”

I kept saying, “Just one more second!” But we both knew that was a lie. Every time I said it, Sadie’s disappointment grew more visible. She’d look at the door. Then at me. Then at the door again. Then let out this long, suffering sigh.

By the time I was actually ready—fifteen minutes later—Sadie was lying down by the door, her head on her paws, looking like I’d cancelled Christmas.

From Sadie’s Perspective:

She said we were going out. She SAID IT. Those exact words: “Let’s go out!”

I was ready. I’m ALWAYS ready. I don’t need to “find my shoes” or “grab my wallet” or do whatever humans do that takes seventeen years. I’m a dog. I’m ready 24/7. That’s literally my whole thing.

But no. She had to change her shirt. Then she couldn’t find her other shoe. THEN she needed her wallet. Then she was looking for her keys even though they were RIGHT THERE on the counter where they always are.

I sat by the door. I waited. My tail was wagging so hard at first that I thought it might fall off. But as the minutes ticked by, my tail slowed down. Then stopped. Because what’s the point of wagging when we’re clearly never actually leaving?

She kept saying “just one more second” but that’s human code for “at least five more minutes.” I know this. I’ve lived with her for four years. I know her lies.

Every time she walked past me, I’d look up hopefully. “Now? Are we going NOW?” But no. She’d disappear into another room to do something else that apparently couldn’t wait.

Finally, I just laid down. Put my head on my paws. Accepted my fate. We were never going anywhere. This was my life now. Waiting by a door that would never open.

The Happy Ending:

But then—FINALLY—she grabbed her keys (from the counter where they’d been the whole time) and said, “Okay, NOW we’re ready!”

I didn’t move at first. I’d been hurt too many times. But then she opened the door, and I realized this was actually happening. We were ACTUALLY LEAVING.

I jumped up and bolted to the car. No time to waste. She’d already wasted fifteen minutes. We were behind schedule.

We pulled up to The Hungry Puppy, and I saw the signs everywhere: FRIDAY NIGHT BITES. There were smells of the best foods, both for my human and me, dogs running around, people laughing. THIS. This is what I’d been waiting for!

The moment she opened the car door, I was OUT. There was so much to see! So many dogs to meet! So many smells to investigate!

I ran straight to the The Hungry Puppy Dog Park. I met a little dog named Too who wanted to race, and we ran laps around the whole area until we were both panting.

My human got food from the big high table—hot dogs, I could smell it—and she shared a piece with me. HOT DOGS. At a dog-friendly event. This is what Friday nights are supposed to be.

We stayed for two hours. TWO HOURS. I played with at least twelve different dogs. I got treats from three different people. I ran through the tunnel so many times I lost count. My human was smiling and relaxed, talking to other dog parents and actually enjoying herself.

On the drive home, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. My paws hurt in the best way. My tongue was still hanging out from all the running. Slow-moving Sally looked down at me and said, “Sorry I took so long to get ready,” reaching back to pet my head. “But this was worth it, right?”

I licked her hand. Yeah, okay. It was worth the wait. Friday Night Bites at The Hungry Puppy is always worth it. But next time? Maybe she could find her shoes BEFORE announcing we’re leaving.

We’re friends again. My Friday night was saved. And I’m already excited for next week’s Friday Night Bites. Just… maybe she could lay out her outfit ahead of time.