Yesterday, before I left the house headed for the airport, I kissed the Hubby goodbye (woke him up to do this) and told him I would call him when I got to my destination later that afternoon. We had spoken about this the night before so this was sort of an affirmation of that conversation and the plans we had already made.
So when I got to Santa Clara and checked into my hotel, I called home. No one answered. And I called again a short while later and...no one answered. And again and again and again. Until I started to get frightened because this is rather unusual for Hubby. When we have plans, he generally follows the plan. So I called my sister who, as usual, did not answer her phone and then I contacted my best friend to schedule her to run by the house on her way home from work to check on Hubby, who by now, in my imagination, was lying in a puddle of blood after having amputated his arm with some power tool or had had a heart attack and one of the pugs was licking him to death.
He called me when he got off the golf course. I think I should have just let the pugs lick him to death. It would have served him right!!