Anyone who knows us, knows Willow, our dog. She’s a tiny (5 lb. 2 oz.), a chihuahua named after Les Raber’s “Willow Waltz.”

This morning about 7:15, John got up and Willow was no where to be found. It didn’t take him long to get concerned enought to get me up too so I could help search. We called and looked.

The last time either of us had seen her was about 11:15 last night when she curled up on “her” pillow next to our bed.

John said it concerned him when she didn’t pester him to get up as soon as it was light.

I heard her when I got up to go to the bathroom before 5:00 (it was still dark). She made a slight noise but I figured she was laying beside John on her pillow, so I didn’t give it any thought nor did I look for her then.

With both of us looking, it only took about five minutes to find her. What had happened to her? Where was she?

Willow had apparently gotten up to use her “paper.” (She uses a paper like a cat uses a litter box. Her paper is a spread out newspaper on a plastic runner in the laundry room.) Instead of going through our bedroom door toward the laundry room, she went sightly right and ended up behind the door. (It probably wasn’t totally open.) When she missed the door opening and instead headed into the area behind the door, it was too narrow to turn around. She couldn’t back up. She was stuck. Being 14 years old and blind in one eye, she has her challenges. The space behind the door trapped her. She probably could see us through the slit by the hinge, but couldn’t move forward, nor back. We have no idea how long she was there but she was traumatized and so were we.

Poor Willow.

When we found her she was quiet and frightened. She seems to have recovered, but I feel so badly that she went through that scarey trauma.