When Good Dogs Go Bad

So I had this coupon and decided to go to Penneys after work. They were shorthanded at the store and it took me longer than I expected to get out. By the time I got on the road, the rain and thunder and lightning was upon us. Unfortunately, I had left a window cracked. This is what Jake does when you leave a window cracked.

Oh, and before you think I don't know what cracked means. Think two fingers. Jake is a resourceful fella.

As I drove up the driveway and saw the window, I knew what to expect. Jake was long gone. But it was getting dark. I whistled and whistled and whistled but Jake didn't come. He usually comes. He's usually close. He's usually hiding under the wheelchair ramps or something. But it was really pouring. I doubt he could have heard me even if he was close. I got in the car and drove down what I thought was every road in Dowell. I shouted out the window for Jake.

Nothing.

I drove up and down I-51 looking for a hurt dog on the side of the road.

Thankfully, nothing.

Finally, a phone call came in. Jake was in Dowell in someone's garage. This is what I found when I got there. He was coated in a film of mud. His fur was speckled with grass seed. He was soaking wet. He was exhausted. I had to call him several times. He seemed not to recognize me. Finally he realized we were going home. He hopped in the car and laid right down. He got in the house and ran in the pantry and began to clean himself.


Tomorrow, I'll worry about the bath. For tonight I don't have the heart to stress him out anymore. Damn Midwestern thunderstorms.


Glad to have you home, buddy.