I have a problem with keys.

The kind of problem where I forget them.

The kind of problem where I drop them.

The kind of problem where I leave them odd places.

The kind of problem where I lose them.

Sometimes Ivy pretends she’s going somewhere.  She’ll say goodbye and “leave” out the door.  Then she comes back and says “Oh, I forgot my keys!” gets pretend keys and then “leaves” again.

I have that kind of key problem.

John and I lived in Rockford after we first got married.  We lived in the bottom half of a house and our landlady lived above us.  I regularly lost my key and locked myself out. Eventually our landlady hid a key outside the house for me so I didn’t have to come borrow hers every time I was locked out again.

That kind of a key problem.

When we first moved here I locked myself out so often I hid a key in the chicken coop.

That kind of key problem.

I got a territorial Great Dane, stopped locking the door and life was good.

So today when due to unusual circumstances I locked myself out of the house I was not surprised to see that I was missing my usual set of keys (the one with a house key) and only had the spare key to the truck.  Since a few months ago the rats made off with my spare chicken coop key I was left with two options: 1) Breaking screens off windows until I found an unlocked window, while yelling at my territorial dog that it was ME and to settle down! or 2)  Drive to get John’s key which was thirty minutes away. I decided to take a trip into town.  A few extenuating circumstances and two and half hours later I was back with a house key.

John’s house key…

My husband is fully aware of my key problem.