Operation Rottweiler Joyride

or, the one where I woke up to find my dog held hostage by my 2 year old.

There are few sounds that can cut through a sleep-deprived mother’s dream state faster than the slam of a car door.

Tuesday. 5:10 AM.

Too early for consciousness, too late for optimism.

I bolt upright. The house is suspiciously quiet — which, as every parent knows, is code for something has gone terribly wrong.

I fling open the front door… and freeze.

There, in the driveway, is my Rottweiler.

Locked inside my car.

Sitting upright in the passenger seat like a furry, oversized toddler — equal parts guilty and hopeful.

In the driver’s seat stands the actual toddler — my toddler — fully dressed, holding my car keys like a man on a mission.

Pajamas swapped for shorts and a Harley Davidson shirt.

He’s wearing shoes!!! I knew that was possible, the little devil! The times I’ve lost my last shred of dignity getting his crocs on so we can leave the house… don’t get me started.

He looks at me, all business.

“Sugar Lips.”

For context, Sugar Lips is the coffee van down by the beach — our local spot for caffeine and cinnamon doughnuts.

Apparently, my two-year-old and 60-kilo Rottweiler had decided that, today, they were going on a coffee run.

The plan was flawless, really.

Westley had the keys.

Jackson had the enthusiasm.

All they lacked was opposable thumbs and a valid driver’s licence.

I stood there, equal parts horrified and impressed.

Jackson’s sitting tall, nose fogging up the windscreen, while Westley — entirely unbothered — is jiggling the keys like a man waiting for his babycinno.

I unlock the car with my spare key, and Jackson bounds out. Visibly relieved to be free of the tension, he immediately nicks one of Westley’s shoes as parting loot.

Westley shrugs.

And that’s how my Tuesday began: one shoe, one coffee craving, and a dog who now bolts towards the car everytime I pick up my keys — just in case today’s the day.

There’s no moral to this story, except maybe this:

If you ever think you’re in control of your life, you’re probably not.

You’re just one toddler and a set of car keys away from total mutiny.

And yes, I’ve invested in better locks. Thank you, Karen.

_______________________

This is Episode 3 of The Westley Chronicles — a weekly series about parenting, work, and trying to hold it all together with dry shampoo, duct tape, and stubborn optimism.

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See you next week,

Trinity 💚