I mean, how was I meant to sort one or two to take, make them draw straws? Six eager little furballs; 12 shiny eyes, 12 fuzzy ears ... oh heck, all aboard.
We drove to town: "Mungo, get off the window control. Hugo, you can't sit on my lap. Milo, get out of my handbag. Hugo, you can't sit on my shoulder either ...
We picked up the children. "Yes, you can each have a dog on your lap. No, you have to take the one you're given. Yes it's licking you, that's because you are covered in biscuit."
We went to the supermarket, where the entire car barked at passers-by while we went in and bought milk and bread. We went home and dislodged from the car one daughter, two grandchildren and five mini-dogs.
Hang on, didn't we leave with six? Roll call: Mungo, Milo, Hugo, Bunnie, Penny. Where's Minion? I looked all through the car, but she wasn't there. I looked in the house and yard in case she'd disembarked without my noticing. Two daughters, two grandsons and a husband joined the search. No Minion.
We formed a search party and rushed back to town to retrace our steps. Surely, she'd jumped out at one of our stops? Not at daughter's house. Not at supermarket, not at the ATM. Not visible round any corners or down any driveways. Poor Min, she's elderly, infirm and a bit doddery, and we'd lost her!
We drove around again. It was the night of Halloween, so we accosted groups of trick-or-treaters and questioned them.
Have you seen a tiny lost dog - blonde, hairy, bit of a limp, tongue pokes out at a weird angle? No. I left my phone number with each group and we moved on.
Daughters were worried someone might have found her and stolen her. I reminded them what she looks like - a bit bung, makes an intermittent snorting noise and her tongue permanently lolls out the side of her mouth. Not attractive. Not something you'd steal, really. Daughters disagreed and one started to cry.
We searched on, but finding no success, nor small snorting dogs, we went home to put her face all over Facebook. The local sites are great for this sort of thing; lost dogs, bicycles, selling unwanted couches. Minion's pic was posted and we waited for notifications. None. A few friends replied, "Hope you find her".
Several hours later, picturing poor Min wandering lonely and cold, snorting, limping and lolling, we'd descended into despair. It was time to drop the daughters and grandchild back home so they trooped out to the car. And came running back squealing. They'd found Min! She was sitting up, large as life, in the grandson's car seat!
So - how? Where had she been when we looked in the car in the first place (actually, I'd looked three times)? We can only surmise that, while we were driving the streets calling her name, she was stuck under one of the front seats of the car. The whole time.
Our delight at finding her was tempered with the embarrassment of having to go back on Facebook and explain that, really, she hadn't been "gone" in the first place. Next time, I'll look under things. Or trade the lot in for one, big, mastiff. That sure as heck wouldn't get stuck under a car seat.
-Rachel Wise is a lifestyle block owner and community newspapers editor. Roger Moroney is on leave.
