Cait and I come home from grocery shopping for the dinner I’m making for my bookgroup. As I put the bags on the counter, I notice Andrew is having a glass of wine (meant for my soon-to-be-arriving guests).

Andrew isn’t much of a drinker and he knows the wine is for my friends. I look around for clues, but all looks perfectly fine. Nothing is out of place. The dogs and cat are lounging around the kitchen waiting to be fed as usual. Before I have a chance to ask Andrew if there’s been some bad news, he waves a hand at the animals, and says, “Band on the run” (My husband often speaks in song lyrics, doesn’t yours?)

“What?” I say.

“I just got home to find Kiera and Graidy loose, running around in the front yard,” he says.

This is bad for several reasons, not least of which is because our front yard is not fenced, it’s dark out, and cars fly by our house at 50-60 mph. Andrew sees me blanch.

“Oh, that’s not the least of it,” he continues. “Just as I get these two gathered up and back in the house, I turn around to close the garage door, only to see Finnegan sauntering around the corner from the bushes. All three of them were loose.”

I go to check the front door to make sure it’s still locked. (Kiera can open it in under two seconds when it’s not locked.) It is. I go back to the kitchen, sit down and rub my temples, wondering how they made the break. Cait was the last one out. She must not have shut the garage door tightly when we left.

Andrew asks, “You ready for a glass of wine.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

We clink glasses. “To the luck of the Irish.”