He looks sorry, doesn't he

I love my dog. I won't go on about his brown eyes or all 13 pounds of his cuddly self like I normally could, but I cannot.

I felt like grounding my dog for a week, with no TV and no phone privileges, because that little sonofa can RUN. And that running had better get him a track scholarship, because I did not grab his fur and save his life (not really) for my health (OK, so I did for my emotional health).

We usually let Mr. Big out the back door and watch from our semi-warm dining room. He runs in tiny circles in the snow and runs back on the deck when we call his name. Oh, cute.

But this time, just because I had pajama pants and no shoes on and it's like, 6 degrees, he decides to pick up running as a hobby because "ERIN, LOOK there is a RABBIT in MY yard," he calls as he runs through our yard, down the driveway of our neighbors as I throw open the back door and run, screaming "BIG STOP STOP BIG STOP" and do my best "Wait til your father hears about this" voice.

He stops in the middle of the neighbor's driveway, turns around and -- I swear -- says "NO." That little 13-pound mutt took off after some rabbit twice his size toward the road.

The story would get much more dramatic had there been a monster truck coming down the road with flames shooting out its tailpipe while blaring "Sweet Home Alabama" or something. But it was just a Honda, and it wasn't even going that fast. And just because Big got smashed in my head, because I always think the worst, doesn't mean he actually ever crossed the sidewalk in real life.

Because I said "BIIIIIIIG," in that way that hurts your throat right afterward, and in animal-speak means "I will hurt you." He's lucky I'm an animal lover.

Big put his tail between his legs and stopped, turning to slowly back up on the sidewalk away from me.

I grabbed his fur behind his neck and swooped him up into my arms. "BIG NO, NO NO NO NO." I'm sure he comprehended.

Either way, he's not getting on the computer to play Bookworm tonight. Grounded. Big time.

And all I kept hearing in my head was my dad telling me about the day his and his wife's dog got hit by a car. My sister, who was 6 then, said "Awwwww. ... Can I see him!" Not in a cute "aw, honey, no, he's in heaven" way. I mean in a "I want to see guts" way.

Ah, kids.