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.