I blame the dog

We are dog sitting for the youngest son. I like the dog. He is a good boy, well behaved and fun. Around 3:30 or so This morning I woke to him running from the front door to the back, his nails clicking on the wood floor as he slid around the corner from the kitchen and around the stairs. Back and forth. Back and forth. I stumbled down he steps and let him out back. I guess he had to pee. He shot out the patio door like a little Corgi rocket. When he came back in he flew up the stairs to the office recliner and curled into a ball. 

Me, I headed back to bed. Unfortunately, worries and thoughts climbed under the blankets with me. I tossed and turned until it was clear sleep had left the building. So here I am, sitting on the couch, hunting and pecking at the old iPad keyboard. I sometimes blame the dog when I pass gas, and I am blaming him for my insomnia too.