the great escape

Saturday morning started out pretty routinely. Mom was stuck here for another day, a result of a nasty bout with Vertigo, and Lofton was here also, loaded down with house chores for the day.

After breakfast Lofton put the dogs outside and then headed to Lowe’s to pick up a few supplies. I was doing some laundry, Reese was moping around, and Mama was getting dressed.

In a short span of ten minutes things went from mundane to manic.

Wendy, our sweet neighbor, knocked on the back door a little after eight. When I opened it, she was standing on the back porch with Raleigh. {Now, this is not the first time Raleigh has gotten out. It has happened once before with the same result—she walks up on the porch and waits for us to find her.}

My heart sank into my stomach and I ran to the laundry room, flew open the door, and started yelling for Jake. Nothing. No barking, no yellow dog bounding across the yard, nothing.

I threw on my shoes, grabbed my phone, and ran outside. Wendy and I ran around the yard, surrounding houses, and the immediate streets before I jumped in my car. At this point I called Lofton.

L: Hello?
Me: Do not panic.
L: Aww *%$@. What’s wrong?
Me: Wendy found Raleigh on the porch, and Jake is nowhere to be found. You need to come home.

At some point Lofton and I crossed paths as we cased the neighborhood. Each of us was yelling for Jake out the car window. I think I yelled, “Load up” at least 1,000 times, and at every turn I was certain Jake was going to be lying dead in the road.

After what seemed like eternity, I headed back toward the house to regroup. I was sick to my stomach, sad, and a little befuddled as to what we should do next.

As I drove in front of our house, something compelled me to keep going—toward the seedy side of our hood. I drove straight, scanning rapidly for signs of our yellow child. There was a truck behind me {riding my tail}.

Close to the railroad tracks, as I rounded the turn, I saw the sweetest sight:: Jake, wet and muddy, running toward my car. I threw it in park, opened the door, and yelled load up. Mud and all, he jumped into the car.

I think he was glad to be found. Life on that side of the tracks was not going to be pleasant for him.

I called Lofton and headed home, all the while cussing Jake in the car.

A transcript of what I said:

“Stupid dog! You smell and you’re getting my car muddy. What in the heck were you thinking? I don’t even like dogs--- if your daddy didn’t already have you before we met we wouldn’t have pets. You are so much trouble. If you ever do this again I’m not coming for you… I swear it. If you want to live in the ghetto go for it. Let the pit bulls use you for cage practice.”


Another side note:

The “hole” the dogs tunneled has been present for awhile. Just last week I pointed it out to Lofton and asked if he thought the dogs could get out. He said no. He also said that our dogs would never run away, that they dig holes to get cooled off, not for means of escape.

Famous last words.

Needless to say the hole has been fixed and our children won’t be digging to China anytime soon.

Also, Reese is still under the weather and we are still not sleeping.