When it rains, it pours. We could see the storm clouds building today, on the way home from Anchorage. The clouds had descended over our area. A metaphor, of sorts.

After dinner, as I was tending to the horses, I heard barking up on the upper road and thought that the neighbor’s dogs were going at it. Then I heard Pete yell Shadow and Ryder’s names. I next saw Pete heading down the driveway in his Subaru. He stopped long enough to let me know that Shadow had dug a hole under the fence and both dogs had left the premises.

Ryder and Shadow share the Mat

This is unusual. Both dogs have never strayed, and Ryder has always stuck really close to home. We’ve been around the loop – Pete went to walk the trails, and I decided to stay put, just in case they returned.

Lost dogs, time stops when this happens, like being in an accident. I think this is because one’s stream of consciousness lurches to a halt, then does a 180-degree turn.

You think – will I ever see my dog(s) again? Might someone pick them up and taken them elsewhere? Will the tire biter in the group get her just due? And again, there is the possibility that plans will change. You’ll have to print up lost dog signs and get a friend or two to put up a Facebook post. Not that Facebook ever does any good, but it is great when it comes time to either get condolences or to be criticized for having flimsy fencing.

Pete theorizes that dogs that aren’t confined don’t wander as far as far as do canine escapees.

None, I repeat, none of our neighbors have fencing, nor do they leash their dogs. It’s just not what is done in off the grid semi-residential, supposedly wilderness areas. So maybe they don’t fret when their dogs go astray. Rather, they light up joints, kick back, and drink yet another Coors beer. I myself depend on good fencing and stick with local leashing requirements.

Okay. So seconds ago, the sound of barking alerted me to the fact that indeed, the dogs had returned home. I ran downstairs and Pete was letting them in the gate. I was glad, of course, to see all three, in part because the canines were safe and because we would not have to spend our time printing up fliers and posting them around town.

And my stream of consciousness thinking has resumed. It appears that Shadow dug her way to freedom. Perhaps we could send her to Mexico and she could dig tunnels for El Chapo and other drug dealers. She’d either get tired of digging or keep at it and ask for a pay raise.

The real culprit is Ryder though, who used to tell us to get rid of Shadow. Now she’s using her to her advantage. Shadow does the digging and Ryder has her follow her in order to check out whatever it is she decides needs checking out.

Verified again. Around here, it’s a dog’s life.

Next: 130. 5/11/21: Spring