Oh dear...I've just drugged the dogs

Disclaimer: An old pic of Cuba napping - no drugs involved

If further proof was needed that I am not fit to raise children, well here it is. Tonight I've delivered in spades. I've just drugged my own dogs. That's right, I have given the dog equivalent of baby Panadol to two barking fluff balls.

On the upside, the barking has stopped. On the downside, I am now moving into the first stage of bad parent (mother of fur babies) guilt. Have I overdosed them? They seem too quite. Are they dead or sleeping? Oh god, I almost want the barking to start again.

Why did I drug my dogs I can hear you asking? Well, it all stems from their Houdini like escape effort last night which involved four jail breaks under the fence, two massive barking fits by the one dog who couldn't get under the fence and three neighbours running around trying to catch and return them – all while I obliviously networked the night away at a work function. Ohhh... the shame and guilt! 

Needless to say I am now trying to keep them on best behaviour. But it turns out their idea of a good Friday night involves enough barking to send a saint mad (clearly not happy about the newly secured yard). And then it happened. I cracked. After multiple attempts to shut them up, with zero impact, I lost the plot. Before I knew it I was in the dog medicine box looking for those magic tablets that "relax even the most anxious dog" (you can tell we've been here before). It is herbal, which should count in my favour. 

I have no idea how parents of real children do it. The constant crying would be enough to have me downing the bottle of baby Panadol myself. Big respect to you!

As a side note - I've just checked the dogs and they are breathing.