When they've had their fill of the their small outside world, they meander back to the porch and make their way up the stairs and back inside. They each get a biscuit and then I
methodically lock them behind the gate that subdivides the kitchen, close the door between the office and the kitchen and and from the other side, secure it with bungi cords. A tank couldn't get through, I think to myself, the house is safe. These precautions work well for the first couple of weeks but then I discover that the ragged old dog can climb the gate. I find him serenely asleep after he's overturned the trash can and spread wadded up paper towels all over the floor. He's had a paper festish since he was a puppy and this is nothing new but it's still annoying. I'm mildy impressed that he's figured out to climb the gate at his age and in his condition but not terribly concerned. The following morning, the trash can is again overturned and scraps of paper towels litter the floor but this time, he is still on the far side of the gate, calmly watching me sweep. I wonder if he actually climbed out and then climbed back in again, then I realize that from this side of the gate, he would only have to apply a little pressure to the gate and he would be able to able to get through easily enough as it opens outward. Why he would want to is another matter but then dogs often have their mysterious ways. This, I remind myself, is a dog who was able to jump from the floor to the kitchen counter when he was younger and could always open a cabinet with the most minimum of effort. Dumb as a brick, we used to say, but with a clear clever streak.
Now, of course, he's old and tired and out of energy. The once luxurious coat is patchy and matted, his muzzle is completely white and his back end doesn't always cooperate with his front so he falls often and routinely has trouble navigating stairs. He's mostly deaf and his eyes are beginning to be cloudy but he still gets around and shows no sign of pain or stiffness. He may be unsteady on his feet at times and he needs help to get on the bed at night but he eats like a horse and can empty his water bowl in ten seconds flat. And he's still unfailingly glad to see us both every time the door opens, never neglects his guard dog duties if someone should pass by the house or God forbid, a cat or a letter carrier or a delivery person should venture onto the front porch.
I take all of this into account the morning I unlock the fron door and discover him asleep under my desk. The door between the office and the kitchen is wide open, the trashcan is overturned, the bungi cords intact but laying on the floor. Is it possible that I was careless and just forgot? It isn't likely but just to be sure I take extra care when I leave that the gate is up and he's on the far side and the door is shut and the bungi cords are attached and the trashcan is righted. Dumb as a brick, I tell myself as I leave - just not possible that he could've gotten around all those obstacles and freed himself. Except that it happened twice more that same day and then routinely began to happen every other day or so. Sometimes I find him on the far side of the gate, sleeping as innocently as a newborn. Sometimes I find him on this side of the gate, peacefully asleep beside the overturned trashcan. Sometimes I find him under my desk, also asleep without a care in the world.
I tell this to Michael who calmly suggests it must be magic but I hear the skepticism in his voice and can only imagine him rolling his eyes.
Well, I tell him, I guess you'll have to see for yourself when you get back. Ain't reality something. 
