Foolishly, I asked that we go back to the friend's lake house to look for my lost cell phone. The dogsitter answered the door: "Do you have a dog with you?" Uh, no. We tried to help her catch the escaped wolf, who stood tall and just out of reach, the bitch. Then Todd called and said he was sweating, thus perhaps bleeding to death, so we dashed home. (As of this writing he still has broken ribs but probably an intact spleen. He's still alive, anyway.)

The next day we sat on the dock at Mary Lea's farm, watched fish swim by, and petted her fat ornery horses, until she took me to the airport, exhausted and sunburnt.

Is there anything good to say about American Airlines? Or the DFW airport? Our plane circled the Dallas airport, where those of us who live in Austin are doomed to get connecting flights to nearly anywhere else. Unfortunately, Dallas is also known for spot thunderstorms (directly over the airport) and dangerous windshears. The pilot informed us that what with the circling over the thunderclouds, we were running low on gas, so we were diverting to another airport to refuel. Did we go to an airport that was the final destination of anyone on the packed airplane? No. We went to Shreveport, Louisiana.

Two hours later, around midnight, we arrived at the cloudless Dallas airport. Every other flight of the day had left. I'd lost my cell phone. I wanted to be home so badly. My fantasy of strolling off the airplane in a sexy shirt Mary Lea had given me to the sweet-smelling embrace of my appreciative boyfriend had been dashed. I stole a blanket from the airplane, anticipating sleeping on the floor of the airport. No one was giving us any information. A single customer service person at the gate handed out hotel vouchers. Exhausted, dehydrated, and with a headache, I stared at the thing. "Where do we go?"

"Down and to the left. You'll be on the first flight out in the morning. Call the 1-800-number on your ticket envelope."

That was the only information we received. Jason, meanwhile, back in Austin had called the airlines and gotten all sorts of information. However, I, being an actual passenger in an airport empty of other flights, got no information. You'd think at least, oh, two personnel could have helped a full plane of stranded passengers. I had no idea when the flight the next day was. How would I wake up in time? I'd eaten nothing in hours and hours but a handful of pretzels.

We went "down and to the left," to the curb. Someone more alert than I noticed the Marriot shuttle bus. It had eight seats (for 65 passengers?) and the driver looked alarmed. I noticed that the voucher was not for a free hotel stay, but for a reduced rate of $60. I took a gamble, gave up my seat, and ran for the shuttle bus to the rental car area.

It's hard to find a one-way car rental. The nicest rental car agent in the world (although as we all know, that's not saying much), Tiffany of Budget Car Rental in DFW, helped me find an "Austin car." It cost twice what I'd expected, but I decided it was too late to turn back. Tiffany let me get a coke from the staff coke machine and I was on my way to the highway.

Dazed and fueled by coffee and sunflower seeds, I got home at 4:00 a.m.

Turns out that my cell phone was under Mary Lea's bed the whole time. Her toy poodle is a kleptomaniac.