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?"
The escape artist strikes again
ReplyDeleteI hope that Belle isn't court marshaled, shot, and sent to the Russian Front.
ReplyDeleteLove The Great Escape reference!
ReplyDeletegfa
Sooo... The tradition continues... :-)
ReplyDelete:-)
ReplyDelete:-)
ReplyDelete