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When we got Olive, she was only nine weeks old and teeny tiny.  We had to shuffle our feet around to make sure we didn't step on her and I would bundle her in a blanket when we went outside because it was so cold and she was so little; I honestly was afraid she was like a baby and the wind would take her breath away.

Anyway, I really wanted her to sleep in her crate at night so that I didn't accidentally crush her.  That worked for zero days and she's slept with me since the beginning.

One night, Roger woke me up in a panic asking where she was.  We looked through the blankets and couldn't find her.  He started yelling her name and ran over to turn on the lights.  She wasn't answering and we couldn't find her anywhere.  I knew she had to be somewhere, so I started checking under the bed and around the room.  She didn't just disappear.  Roger's panic heightened with every passing second and he started pacing while I continued to look. He finally just yelled, "SHE'S NOT ALIVE!"

I gave him the dirtiest look ever and finally started picking up the pillows.  Somehow, the mattress had moved forward just far enough that Olive must have fallen between the mattress and the wall and landed on the box spring where she was sleeping peacefully.

I'd like to point out that this all took place in a matter of about 45 seconds.  Must be sleep does something weird to him.  I'll admit it was scary, but I didn't immediately jump to worst-case scenario. Plus the way he worded it makes me laugh.  I can't tell this story without laughing.

He might kill me for this, but it's one of my favorite stories ever (only because Olive was, in fact, alive). We adore her, obviously :)


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