Days without a Belle-break...
Dogs were out in the back yard. I noticed it was pouring down rain. I opened the door and Murphy was on the covered side porch, dry as a bone. I called Belle. No answer Called again. Nothing. Pulled Murphy in and went to the front door. Out on the front porch, I shouted her name again. And here she came, trotting up happy as a clam and twice as muddy. It took me a few minutes to figure out where she'd tunneled out underneath some stuff stacked up against the side of the house. If not for the fresh mud and paw-marks in it, I'd have likely not found it.
"Little Big X" strikes again.
"Don't I at least get a catcher's mitt and ball on my way back to the cooler?"