I think you know by now how much I adore my pets. They are just furry children, in my opinion.
Sophie, my golden retriever, is nearly a year old now, and the sweetest thing ever. Milo, the Jack Russell, is nearly four. Though he is the most.challenging.dog I have ever owned, he is such a fun boy and very cuddly.
So I come home early one afternoon, and let Sophie and Milo outside. We built a beautiful white picket fence last summer, and the dogs just love to play outside for hours at a time. I am busy in the house doing important chores (ok, maybe I was just on the internet, but whatever) and I leave them out to play.
45 minutes later, I go to call them inside. They don't come. With a growing sense of dread, I walk around the side of the house. The gate's locked, but they are nowhere to be found. I run around the other side. No dogs. They are GONE. And I had just given them baths recently and didn't put their collars back on. Oh, crap.
In an instant, I panic. People drive like maniacs in our neighborhood, and my babies are sheltered. They are probably running around like idiots and paying no attention to the speeding portals of death that are hurtling toward them.
A quick search on our street nets nothing, so I jump in the car to start searching. I am in full fledged panic mode by now. I stop to ask a woman who is mowing her lawn if she might have seen my dogs, and I can't get a single word out before tears start streaming down my cheeks. Where are they??
I call Animal Control. I call the local SPCA. I call my husband, who is even more infatuated with these dogs than I am. He is thankfully calm and supportive and just says, "Keep looking." I tearfully respond, "What if I never find them?"
I drive around calling their names for more than an hour, tracing and retracing my steps. Finally, finally I spot them. Running up a street (where people normally race down in excess of 50mph) looking like they are having the time of their lives. Milo wears a goofy smile that stretches across his face. Sophie's tongue is hanging out joyfully, with a long string of drool waving in the breeze. They are loving their adventure. I want to hug them and kill them.
When I pull over and call their names, they come to me happily. But when I open the car door to shoo them inside, they stop and look at me. I could almost hear their thoughts. "But, Mom, we were having so much fun!" I can't help but hug them and give them another minute of freedom.
Thank goodness we got so lucky, and nothing happened to them. I still have no idea how they got out of the fence, as they have never tried to jump it and the gate was closed. All that matters is that my little furbabies are home.
Bad puppies. Very bad. I think they may have conspired against me.
Sophie, my golden retriever, is nearly a year old now, and the sweetest thing ever. Milo, the Jack Russell, is nearly four. Though he is the most.challenging.dog I have ever owned, he is such a fun boy and very cuddly.
So I come home early one afternoon, and let Sophie and Milo outside. We built a beautiful white picket fence last summer, and the dogs just love to play outside for hours at a time. I am busy in the house doing important chores (ok, maybe I was just on the internet, but whatever) and I leave them out to play.
45 minutes later, I go to call them inside. They don't come. With a growing sense of dread, I walk around the side of the house. The gate's locked, but they are nowhere to be found. I run around the other side. No dogs. They are GONE. And I had just given them baths recently and didn't put their collars back on. Oh, crap.
In an instant, I panic. People drive like maniacs in our neighborhood, and my babies are sheltered. They are probably running around like idiots and paying no attention to the speeding portals of death that are hurtling toward them.
A quick search on our street nets nothing, so I jump in the car to start searching. I am in full fledged panic mode by now. I stop to ask a woman who is mowing her lawn if she might have seen my dogs, and I can't get a single word out before tears start streaming down my cheeks. Where are they??
I call Animal Control. I call the local SPCA. I call my husband, who is even more infatuated with these dogs than I am. He is thankfully calm and supportive and just says, "Keep looking." I tearfully respond, "What if I never find them?"
I drive around calling their names for more than an hour, tracing and retracing my steps. Finally, finally I spot them. Running up a street (where people normally race down in excess of 50mph) looking like they are having the time of their lives. Milo wears a goofy smile that stretches across his face. Sophie's tongue is hanging out joyfully, with a long string of drool waving in the breeze. They are loving their adventure. I want to hug them and kill them.
When I pull over and call their names, they come to me happily. But when I open the car door to shoo them inside, they stop and look at me. I could almost hear their thoughts. "But, Mom, we were having so much fun!" I can't help but hug them and give them another minute of freedom.
Thank goodness we got so lucky, and nothing happened to them. I still have no idea how they got out of the fence, as they have never tried to jump it and the gate was closed. All that matters is that my little furbabies are home.
Bad puppies. Very bad. I think they may have conspired against me.
5 Comments:
oh man I would have been in a total panic too!! That is so odd that you don't know how they got out though...are they super smart and can open gate doors?
Glad there was a happy ending!
Do they dig? Do you think that's how they got out?
Well, here's to hoping that however the great escape was made, they don't do it again.
SO AWFUL! Are you gonna have to build a taller fence now, or what??
Is everything okay? Where are you?
Oh man! I have been in the same position. I was almost in tears reading your story. So glad you found them. Bad Bad Dogs!!! Oh, but I know exactly what you mean about being so mad at them but still hugging them when you find them. My furrbabies are my kids.
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