Off like a shot

We have a cute yellow lab in the neighborhood that doesn’t like to stay home. He gets away from home one, maybe two times a week.

This yellow lab loves to gambol over to the casa and antagonize the royal poochies most times he gets away from home.

The royal poochies just love him.


Yesterday was one of those typical days when the yeller feller made a run for the hills.

And he made it outside the confines of our ivory tower.

His young mistress (couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old) was walking behind him … desperately chasing him at first and then giving up, tears running down her face.

Hub saw the yellow streak of lightning bolt out the gate when the FedEx guy was leaving. He came home, grim look on his face, and asked me if I wanted to go wrangle a pooch.

So off we went to find the young lass and her rambunctious canine. We found the girl a few doors down from us with her older sister. We asked which way the crafty guy went and we tried our version of hot pursuit in our noisy “Kermie.”

Before we took off on our little adventure, we asked the girls where they lived so we could bring their yellow guy home and they COULDN’T REMEMBER WHERE THEY LIVED!

Oh. My. Gosh.

They pointed back past our house and said, “We live over on that street. We’ll be sitting outside waiting for you.”

Right …

We eventually did find the rascal, got him situated in the back seat, and got him safely home.

The knucklehead really got pretty far! I suggested we turn on a street that seemed to be a pretty fur piece from our subdivision and just when we were about to give up, we saw him being loved on by a sweet little girl while her mom was holding firm to his collar while calling to see where his owners lived.

After we drove up, we explained that we had promised the girls we’d get the big guy home. She was (understandably) suspicious, but we did what we said we were going to do.

I asked the girls when we finally found them sitting outside in their front lawn (just like they’d promised) how their pooch manages to get out so often.

They gave some mumbled excuse about him being so fast that he bolts whenever they open the door.

I think they finally (I SO hope, anyway) realized that maybe they need to be a whole lot more responsible and careful about their dog because two sets of total strangers had to help them get him home that time. Not to mention the fact that he ended up a LONG way from home.

Reflecting on the whole incident, Hub commented, “If that had been either of our little royals, I’d sure hope someone would bring ’em back home to us.”

My reply?

“I just hope we never have to find out.”


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