Battle Ground

Carolyn had an appointment today and, since she no longer drives, that meant we had to leave Muffy in charge of the house.  He's a great watch dog.  Whether it's a butterfly or a gorilla that violates our boundaries, the alarm goes off.  One of these days I'll be happy he's so protective, but not today.  I'm mad at the little animal. 

Several weeks ago we stuffed him in the garage and while we were gone, he turned himself into a grease ball.  A few days later, we relented and allowed him access to the back yard.  He ran away.  I countered by installing a charged wire around the entire yard.  Well, almost all the way around the yard. I left an opening in front of the gate because I use it the way God intended a gate to be used - I roll trash cans through it on their way to the curb for pick up. 

That's where the clever dog has launched the last several attacks.  If any of you readers just happen to have Colin Powell's phone number, please give it to me.  My mutt is persistent, able to locate any potential weakness in the enemy lines and bold enough to carry out a successful campaign even when facing a much larger, smarter and better equipped opponent.  He needs to be promoted to General and I'm betting ol' Colin can tell me just who I should contact to make it happen. 

The first time he was on his own, after the wire was in place, we returned to find a very subdued dog waiting at the sliding patio door.  The first battle went to the side with two legs.  The next time we left him, we returned to find he had managed to dig under the gate.  Our neighboring kids had given him shelter and promptly returned him to us.  I had planned to lay a concrete paver walk way along that side of the house anyway, so I started that project with the first three rows, including one directly under the gate.  HA! - Dig those!

He did.  Right along a four inch opening between the fence and a concrete slab at the garage door .  He's a really small dog, under all that fuzzy hair, but I had no idea he could squirm through such a small opening.  I dropped a row of bricks on edge in that space.  They fit perfectly.  No way he's gonna get out again, right?

Wrong.  Today, when we returned from our appointment, he was trapped in the garage.  The door between it and the back yard had somehow closed, leaving him with no way out.  My chest expanded in pride.  I had won.  He was right where he should be and the war was over.  That feeling of pride lasted until I met my neighbor while inspecting the trees in front for new leaves.  The neighbor informed me Muffy had stopped by to say hi and that after the visit, he had been put in the garage and the door closed.  DagNabIt! 

I inspected the yard for about forty minutes and found no sign of forced exit.  No low spots, no tell tale pile of freshly dug dirt.  No bricks or pavers had been disturbed.  Did the dog suddenly develop superpowers?  Had he learned to jump a tall fence in a single bound?  I looked again at the latched gate.  I wiggled it.  Then I wiggled the bottom.  There!  That's it!  Even though it was latched shut the bottom could be pushed out about four inches.  There was plenty of room for a small escapee to flee captivity. 

It's fixed now, but I'm not holding my breath.  We'll see what happens next time we have to leave.  One good thing about the whole adventure is we're getting to know the neighbors better.  They have seen real effort on our part to keep the mutt out of their lives, and are pretty understanding.  I'm gonna reward them all with a victory dinner at the end of the fight.   As soon as I win.