House Arrest

These days our little Missy is spending her time on the inside looking out, a.k.a. house arrest.  Gone are her days of running free and untethered.  Gone are the endless stream of hot dogs spilling forth from my pockets.  Gone is the happy little dog face.  In its place there is sadness.

 It was one of those rainy, dreary mornings last week.  I had let her outside to chase the geese.  Per standard operating procedure she went charging down to the lake sending the honking poopers back into the safety of the water.  When she paused to bask in the glory of the moment something caught her eye.  I knew she was going.  I saw it in the way she stood, chin up, head erect, nose twitching in eager anticipation of flight.  She hesitated for a second and then she was gone.  Took off like a shot for the woods.  I attempted to follow but my speed pales in comparison and my tracking skills are nonexistent.  For what seemed like hours I wandered the perimeter of the surrounding woods, calling her name and begging her to please come home.  My only response; the loud celebratory honking of the geese who had reassembled on shore to laugh at my plight and rejoice the fact that the evil one had vanished.  To make matters worse the cold rain from earlier in the morning had resumed, quickly soaking my not so water proof sweatshirt.

Gun shots echoed in the distance.  Someone might mistake her for a small doe, or worse yet shoot her for trespassing. What was I to do?  The Kid sped off to search in the car and I headed back to woods.   Finally, with a heavy heart, I gave up.  She was either gone or would somehow manage to find her way home.  I would have to live with it.  Just as I reached the edge of the woods I heard her galloping footsteps behind me.  I turned in time to see her running full bore right towards past me. She did not stop, she did not pass go and she did not collect $200.  Like Forest Gump on steroids she ran,  creating intricate patterns moving forward and circling back.  Behaviour that was born of her ancestors and resurrected on this day when opportunity knocked.  In exasperation I threw my hands in the air and sulked the short distance home.  Finally she caught sight of one of our neighbors and ran happily to greet her.

When I caught up with her I didn't know whether to hug her or kill her.  As I clamped the leash tightly onto her collar I knew killing was definitely an option.  She was filthy.  Dripping wet, globs of mud hanging from her beautiful golden coat and a million burrs stuck helter skelter to her wiggling body.  Her tongue was dragging on the ground but she was all smiles.  Grinning the biggest doggy grin you have ever seen.  I opted for the the hug.  She received a bath at the neighbors, a blow dry at home and then crawled into bed for a long afternoon nap.



Now her days are spent staring longingly out of the window.  She paws at the door and whimpers softly at the squirrels running to and fro around the yard.  She gazes at me with wide golden eyes programmed to their most pitiful.  All is for naught.  Her sentence was handed down the minute she bolted.  It's house arrest for Henna, at least until I can convince the Dog Whisperer to pay us a visit.