A hole in the door.
The outer paneling had literally been torn through and I immediately assumed there had been some sort of light saber war that morning after bowls of Lucky Charms were downed. Not the case.
The culprit was my husband, Greg.
He informed me that he had tripped over our black lab, who often resembles a cozy rug on the floor, only one that’s breathing. Greg put his hand out in front of him, hoping to catch himself, when it went through the door instead.
A dual with light sabers sure sounded a little more interesting.