Busting the dog out of the clink

I got a call at work from my mom.  The dog was in jail.  And not just “the dog house”.  He didn’t do something naughty and now he’s in ta-wubble.  No, no.  He was in actual dog jail.  The Pound.

He and his co-conspirators (his cousin-dogs) had found an escape hole in my mom’s backyard.  And before you get all hoity toity about “wait a minute; you send your dog to your mom’s house like daycare for your dog?”  Yes.  I send my dog to daycare.  Just like my actual children who don’t have furry faces.  What of it?

Anyway, the brat dogs had found an ‘out’ and ‘out’ they went.  Only problem with my dog is he barks too much  he has a squeaky girl voice  he’s obsessed with me  his farts smell like rotton broccoli  he licks his boy bits too much  he’s stupid.  The other dog came back and mine kept running.  And running and running and running.

Unfortunately, my mom was stuck.  Avery was napping and there were no other adults in the house.  After calling him didn’t show results, she woke Ave up, changed her diaper, got the girls into their outer gear, stuck them in a stroller, and walked for blocks shouting Bosco’s name.  They came across a nice old lady who broke the news.

A neighbour had found him and called Animal Control, who came and took him to the Big House.  A) Crap.  B) That was actually the best thing to do.  He’s a tiny dog, who is super cute if you’ve never heard his voice.  He’d be easy pickings for either a front car tire or a person looking for a stray lap dog.

So I got a call at work from my mom telling me my dog was in jail. 

I had to take time off of work to go to the pound and post his bond, which was actually just the cost of a lifetime dog license.  He’s micro-chipped, so we were spared the impound fee.  I took him home, not back to my mom’s, where he was confined to the very secure and escape-proof walls.  I can’t be sure, but I think I can see evidence of prison tats peeking through his neck fur.

After work, we all visited the local farm supply store (shut up – it’s a small town) and got 50 feet of chicken wire to re-enforce the fencing.  Good luck, criminals. 

So now Bossy’s in the dog house.  Figuratively, but if he escapes again, perhaps he’ll be chained to one literally.


3 thoughts on “Busting the dog out of the clink

  1. You have some smart “people” in your house. First your kids are trying to kill you and then your dog is an escape artist!

    • That’s gotta tell you something about what it’s like to live with Jen … apparently no one (human or fur-baby) can take much of her …

  2. Years ago, my then-fifteen-year-old Irish Setter got out and ran and ran and ran right into the animal control truck. Literally. Like ran out in front of the truck and got hit. He was fine, though. A little sore the next day. I was out $60 bucks, because he had taken off his collar with his license and rabies tag. I am not kidding.

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