Story Over a Cup: The Great Puppy Hunt of 2020
My dogs, Bernie and Bill, are escape artists.
Sometimes I wonder if they should not have been named after Penn and Teller instead of Bernie Sanders and Bill Clinton.
Today did nothing but reinforce that.
I have been rebuilding my fence for two simple reasons.
One, to give me some privacy in my yard; and two, to keep these two jokers in the yard.
Originally, we had one of those metal fences that you see on ranches and farms. The ones where you place the green metal stake, then pull the wire tight to make a fence.
Bernie figured out how to jump and pull himself over it while Bill figured out how to push underneath it.
So, over the past month, we have built a wooden privacy fence.
That was great till they figured out how to open the gate.
We fixed that.
So, all was good. We were holding at one week without a prison break.
Then this morning.
Now, like some older homes, our washer and dryer are in a shed in the carport. No big deal.
Well, unless its summer in Texas and you have to melt to go into the sweltering room further heated by the dryer.
Or if its winter in Texas in which no amount of heat from the dryer is helping you stay warm.
Ours has a bit of a defect. The house has a gap at the base of the siding right before the flooring in the shed. I always thought it was too close together for any of our furry friends to escape.
I was wrong.
What is worse, the shed back is not on the fence line.
So, they can get in, and if they can squeeze through they can get out.
That is what they did.
So next thing I know I am once again chasing them. The neighbors know their names because they have gotten out so much. think most of my walks are not on purpose, they are puppy hunts.
What is worse, they never get out of sight. They stay just where I can see them, and they can see me.
But, right out of reach.
This morning something happened, and I lost track of them. I went around the neighborhood four times screaming their names. I could hear other dogs.
Which is funny because even the neighborhood dogs know me. I, of course, was forced to stop and pet several of them.
No luck finding the two scoundrels.
By eleven, three hours later, I had given up. I am overheated. I am thirsty.
I am mad.
So, I make my way back to my home, open the fence gate, and guess who is sitting in the carport taking naps.
I should spray them with the hose.
Thus ends the Great Puppy Hunt of 2020.
Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination which is currently on hold due to escaping dogs. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com
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