It had started raining really hard on Saturday night. The kind of rain in which you couldn't see 3 feet in front of you.

I made the oh so brilliant observation to my devoted spousal unit while we were standing in the garage (my father-in-law, who was visiting at the time, was there with us) "Oh look, Seeley is just standing there out in the rain."

My spouse, being the wonderful man that he is, volunteered, yes VOLUNTEERED, to go out in the God forsaken weather and attempt to get her inside the garage. And do you know what I, the loving, adoring wife said? "Ok, but watch your butt. You remember what happened last time." Dayum, I love that man.

He plopped on his hat, grabbed the seriously powerful flashlight that came with his Tim the Tool Man Drill, and trudged across the street to let the dog in. Or so he thought.

Seeley saw him coming and made a break for the back yard. After following her around, and losing her several times, he gave up. And came back. Defeated.

It was at this point that I knew I had to go out there and get the job done. I grabbed his hat, and the flashlight, and marched across the street, intent on getting the dog inside the garage. I was wearing a t-shirt, sweat pants, slippers, and my husband's hat that I had removed gently from his head.

"If you don't hear from me in 5 minutes, I'm toast."

By this time, Seeley had resurfaced in the driveway so I walked slowly towards her, murmuring sweet nothings, and telling her what a wonderful, and good, and well-behaved dog she was. Ok, it was a little lie but there was no need to tell her that.

I began to pet her, crooning words of encouragement, even though she was extremely wet, and started making my way towards the garage door. It worked until we got about a foot away from the opening, and she turned and promptly made her way across the front yard, to the other side of the house.

There is a little walkway, wide enough for one person to fit through, with a chain-linked fence on one side, and a wooden fence (my neighbors) on the other side. The walkway goes all the way into my neighbor’s back yard. That's where the wooden fence stops. The back yard buts up against the woods. Did I mention it was dark? And that they have a lot of snakes in their yard?

I stopped at the end of the fences, regrouping my thoughts, and formulated another plan. I went back home, and got some leftover meatloaf that we had for dinner that night, and made my way back across the street.

Lo and behold, the dayum dog was standing in the farookin driveway again. Well, that was a good starting point anyway.

I called to her again, and she came over willingly enough, and I began to pet her again. Then, I took a piece of meatloaf, and held it out to her. She took it gratefully, because after all, she hadn't eaten since about two hours ago, and I make the best meatloaf this side of the Mississippi.

Aha. Now I've got her. Did I mention that by this time, the wind had picked up, and the rain was blowing sideways? My t-shirt was plastered to my body, my sweat pants weighed about 56 pounds, and my slippers were a thing of the past?

But dammit, no animal was going to get the better of me. I'm kind of stupid that way.

I slowly walked my way to the garage, feeding her little bits of meatloaf along the way. If I remember correctly, she even belched a few times, which in some countries, could be considered a compliment.

Since the garage door was open up knee level, I tossed a piece of meatloaf into the garage, fully intending to punch in the code on the box outside to close it. What I want to know is who the heck invited Murphy to this party?

The insipid feline had been watching my feeble attempts to lure the furry, four-legged creature inside, while perched upon the stool. The moment I tossed the meatloaf inside the garage, "Cat" swooped down off the stool and scooped it up, and ran for cover.

All bets were off at this point, and I was out for blood. Women will back me up on this, but a wet bra does not bring a pleasurable sensation to your body. To top it off, I had to keep pulling up my sweats because they were so water logged they kept slipping down my ass. This in turn, caused my panties to give me a wedgie. If I had been PMSing at this point, we would have not been having steaks for dinner the next night.

This time, I slowly led Seeley towards the garage door, bent down and got down on my knees, crawled through the opening, and kept coaxing her in. She went for it, and I rewarded her with a big peace of the meatloaf. I went over to the button inside, and closed the garage door. At this point, the cat decided that my slippers would be fun to play with. I had to physically peel her off my foot/leg. So now, I'm sopping wet, with a wedgie, and my sweats now have little threads hanging off the right leg.

I made my way through the house, to the front door. Oh wait, did I tell you that the neighbors have two small children? And that they have one of those doorknob thingies that make it impossible for you to open the door unless you possess a hulk like strength in your hands?

Luckily, it comes apart. Because people, I did not want to destroy anything in the house and I spent a got damn 3 minutes trying to open the door before I said "screw it" and ripped it off the door knob. I originally thought I had destroyed it, but later found out that you can disassemble it quite easily. Figures.

I trudged back to the house, where my darling, but now on my shit list husband, and loving father-in-law who can do no wrong, were waiting.

And do you know what my adoring husband said? "Honey, you're soaked through and through." Yes, he's observant, I know. Sometimes, just sometimes, I feel the need to whack him up side the head. Can your relate?

I went back inside, grabbed myself a glass of wine and headed into the bathroom for a much-needed soak in the bathtub.

I've always felt that if you wanted a job done right, you need to ask a woman to do it. And I had certainly proved my point that night.