Let me set the scene for you:
11:45am. Jack is fussy because he's ready for a nap. I'm checking the clock and mentally calculating that if I can get him down for a nap soon he can sleep for about an hour before we have to leave the house to go to the park to meet a friend.
As Jack slowly drifts off to sleep while I'm rocking him my mind is already racing with all the tasks I will fit in to the hour that he's sleeping. I will eat lunch with two hands! Put in a 2nd load of laundry. Stuff the diapers that have been sitting in the dryer for 2 days and now have relocated to a laundry basket. Brush my teeth. Get the diaper bag ready to go. Get me ready to go. And maybe even have time to check my email.
Right at the point where I think Jack might be asleep enough so that I can put him down, the dog barks. Not just a little bark. A loud, continuous, going ballistic kind of bark.
Surely she's barking because our house is being broken into and she's trying to save our lives. At the very least a stranger must be approaching the house! No. No, she's barking because she's a barky dog and has a squirrel in her sights that's frolicking in our front yard.
At that moment, I buy into the concept of temporary insanity. If I wasn't holding a now awake, crying baby I might just cross the room to kill the dog at this point.
Now, of course I would never harm my animal, but I must admit at moments like this I do have images of wringing her neck cartoon-style so that we can finally have some peace and quiet! Grrr!
Honestly, I don't think there's a jury of my peers (SAHMs of infants with barky dogs <-- we should have a club) in the world who would convict me.
Funny thing, I am now beginning to understand why my own mother was never a fan of our family dog while I was growing up. However, it should be noted that Beau (a black lab that we had from the time he was a puppy til he had to be put down at the age of 13) was MUCH more well behaved than my beast of a mutt.