Break Out!

The day is cold, some mild sleet is falling, and I'm running late between photo shoots and already frazzled when the little dachshund decides to go visiting.  He finds a weak spot in the privacy fence and in seconds has dug under and through to the other side where he joins up with Buster, my neighbor's bad influence of a Shih Tsu.  There is much celebration before I figure out where the little badger dog has disappeared to - it takes finding the gap between the fence and the ground, spotting the newly turned earth, and finally getting down on all fours to peer under - whereupon I find myself nose to nose with a wildly excited Buster and before I can react, he lunges forward and plants a sloppy kiss on my frozen face.  I jerk back and slam my head on the bottom of the fence - oh, that's gonna bruise - and I curse loudly enough to wake the dead.  All I get is a glimpse of the little dachshund, running happily back and forth clear across the neighbor's yard.  I call, I shout, I whistle, I coax, but all to no avail except for Buster who eases down on his belly and effortlessly crawls under and through to my side of the fence.  The little dachshund tries to follow but loses his nerve at the last minute and slips through my grasp.  For a fraction of a second I think To hell with it, one dog is as good as another,
but then Buster dives back under the fence and commences a frenzy of barking.  My little badger dog joins in and soon the entire neighborhood is alerted and talking.

With no other choice, I pick myself up and scrape off my jeans, brush wet leaves from my hair, wedge a fallen log into the space between the fence and the ground and trudge next door.  I'm cold, wet, severely annoyed, and in no mood to have no one answer my knock.  The doorbell sets off a second wave of frantic barking but doesn't get answered and my heart sinks when I realize that I'm running out of options.  I make my way around the house and am confronted with a double set of locked cyclone fence gates.  Hoping that I'm not noticed and that no friendly neighborhood watchperson will feel the need to call the cops, I take several deep breaths and begin to climb.  A slideshow of broken hips and ambulances is playing in my mind by the time I navigate the second gate but this is my dog so I persevere and finally reach the backyard.  The little dachshund, now fully aware of how seriously in trouble he is, decides to pretend it's all a game and shies off, it takes a full five minutes to corner and catch him.  It's only as I'm scaling the gates on my way out with a small dog tucked under my arm that I realize how it will look if anyone sees me - the recent rash of dognappings has been very much in the news lately - and the slideshow suddenly speeds up and now includes visions of jail cells and dog owning neighbors with shotguns.  I hadn't the foresight to bring a leash and when I finally reach the front yard I can't help but revert to stealth mode, making a mad rush to my front door with the little dog struggling and protesting in my awkward one armed grip.  

Safely inside - although still half expecting to hear the wail of a police car - I put him down and give him a severe scolding.

Bad dog! I tell him repeatedly, Very bad dog! 

I've never spoken to him this way before and he has the good grace to be ashamed, at least for a few seconds,
then he lies down with his head on his paws, tail still, eyes pleading up at me and the scolding dies in mid sentence.  What if my neighbor hadn't had a fenced yard, I think.  What if Buster had been not a harmless and affectionate little Shih Tsu but a lock jawed killer mastiff with a mean streak.  The what ifs are too terrible to contemplate, I realize, so despite the gnawing suspicion that I'm being had, I scoop him up into my arms and hug him fiercely. 

Promise me no more digging, I say quietly, and we'll say no more about it. 

He rests his head on my shoulder and sighs.