One of the gates on our backyard fence blew open Saturday night or Sunday morning, and we didn’t notice it until the idiot dog ran away. Mrs. Pupster and I set out on a desperate search and rescue mission. The snow was coming down pretty hard, and the bitter, gusty wind was swirling it around real good. Tackle’s paw prints were covered over within seconds, so we couldn’t just track him through the neighborhood.
I guess he is smart enough to figure out that a soft and warm couch in confinement is better than unlimited freedom in near blizzard conditions. Mrs. Pupster was about a block away searching on foot and I was 3 blocks away driving up and down the neighborhood in the Jeep when Pupster boy 2 called our cell phones with the good news of Tackle’s return. Somehow he had escaped and evaded our capture efforts, and back-tracked himself right to the back door. I wired the gates shut when I got home so they wouldn’t blow open again.
