Sometimes, my dogs truly amaze me.
Our house is infamous because my parents have surrounded it by a piked, pointed, padlocked black gate, bearing visual appeal that would be degraded little if there were decapitated heads at the top of each spike. Because of this, my house sticks out on our otherwise suburban street like a dead baby would stick out in a jar of jelly beans. I think people passing by are surprised when they see me walk out of our front door instead of a hunchback sporting a Niagara-rivaling stream of drool.
So anyway, the point of all of this is that the gate is equally good at keeping organisms from getting in and getting out, so it is to much bemusement when about twice a month, I find Vina and Mookie lounging on our driveway when I go out to my car.
Vina1 will run into a wall if I throw a tennis ball at it.
Mookie2 once missed a piece of dog food that was on the ground, and bit her own foot. Then growled.
How in hell do these little furpiles get out of our house? Three theories:
1) Their nightly barking has finally annoyed a neighbor to the point of making him/her open one of our gates in hopes that they’ll run away. They never meander further than a block, though (tummyrubs keep them loyal).
2) Mookie tries to go through the bars of our gates, gets stuck because she’s too pudgy, then Vina charges from behind and headbutts her from behind, making Mookie pop out like a cork. Then Mookie… I’m pretty sure Mookie knows the combination to the lock on our gates.
3) Help from the Russians.
My dogs could probably have their own syndicated television show if only Mookie wasn’t black.
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???
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