Tiger Lily Takes Off

Former blinds on window
next to front door

New pooch Tiger Lily lulled us into thinking she was all right with the crate, but going in on Sunday morning after spending a few hours there the evening before while we went to a wedding was, shall we say, unacceptable. Usually, we run her to a frazzle before incarceration. This dog will fetch until she can't move, or the thrower's arm falls off, whichever comes first. There wasn't time before church. Home again, we tried to enter the house through the door from the garage, but found it bolted. This is not possible. You can't bolt it from the outside. "Huh," said we. "Must have slipped somehow." So we went to the front door. We found the blinds next to the door smashed and her crate overturned and empty. We still had our mouths open when she dashed past us, out the front door and around the corner like the Incredible Flying Shelter Dog shot from a cannon. 

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."

Seek and Find

I was sure I'd kept a couple of old ice cube trays for just such a predicament. We're trading refrigerator and freezer with the guy who remodeled our kitchen, but he hasn't been able to mesh with the guy who has the big truck. So the old fridge is standing in the dining room, disconnected from water supply, and the new freezer, which has an ice maker, is in the garage, not yet connected to water supply. No functioning ice maker. We're living like animals. Not really. But today the last of the ice was almost gone, and I'd been searching the house for days trying to find those darn ice cube trays. Every closet and shelf and drawer that made any sense was scoured and perused and scoured again. So I stood in front of a big hutch that used to function as a home office and sewing station, which now houses everything from travel ear-plugs to reserves of popcorn and prayed. It was rather a whiny prayer: "Lo-ord, where are those ice-cube trays?" I even spoke to the angels, in case they were listening. "If they're here, you know where they are. How about helping me out?" Then I got down on my knees to look one more time at the lower shelves. Straight ahead, at nose level, on the pullout keyboard shelf, were two ice cube trays. There's something epigrammatic here about ending up where I should have started. I'll let you figure it out.