|Former blinds on window |
next to front door
|I'm innocent, I tell ya.|
I hustled down to the corner, but saw neither tiger stripe nor stubby tail. Changed into trekking clothes, grabbed her leash and set out on foot while the hubs eased his aching spine back into the driver's seat. Walked, called, peered into yards, inquired of everyone I saw, walked and called some more until a man in a car asked "Are you looking for a dog?" He'd seen the very one running like fury up Sand Lake Road toward the terrifyingly busy Dr. Phillips Blvd. He drove me to the spot where he'd seen her last. Several people had tried to stop her, he said, but she was too fast. And a dog of his had run off last year, so he was glad to help. I hiked up and down side streets, found someone who'd spotted her. "She ran that way, really fast." And another group reported she ran to the end of the street and turned left. By this time, son-in-law, the Dog Imperator, had driven out to join the search. He picked me up, but we lost the trail. Back home, I quickly signed up on a nifty site called Nextdoor, on which neighbors can post all sort of messages, and posted a plea with photos. One man called to say she'd run past his house, but that was early on. Lots of others posted good wishes and promises to keep an eye peeled. Positively heart-warming. Posted a prayer request on Facebook, and lots of lovely friends promised to pray for her and offered "lost dog" hints. I had just printed out some photos and phone numbers when the phone rang. A young man's voice: "I have your dog." He and a young lady were driving on Turkey Lake Rd. near Universal, about three miles away, when they saw this tiger-striped dog in traffic, being honked at and near-missed. They and another man who stopped pulled her to safety, and she hopped happily into his car. They called the number on her rabies tag and got our number. They even drove her home-- and called her sweet. Which she is. When she isn't hellbent on getting out of the house and following us wherever the heck we went.
|What dog teeth may do|
to a window-blind slat
She apparently managed to jimmy only the top latch on her crate door open and pushed through that half of the door, tipping the whole crate over in the process. In unknown order, she jumped up on the door to the garage, turning the bolt handle; bit through a thick slat on the dining room blinds, trying to exit the window; ripped off the little blinds next to the front door, and even tried the blinds on the bathroom window, leaving a couple of metal slats bent. And even though getting to us was apparently her goal, when we appeared, she disappeared.
When I knew she was on the way home, I ran outside to wait and actually cried a little. From happiness. When the dear young things delivered the silly dog, I hugged them both, and the hubs came out to shake their hands. I gave them the best blessing I could think of: "May your dog never stray."