*This story is not bike related, but several people have asked me to write about this particular topic, and since this is my blog, I can kind of do what I want.


The trouble began on a random spring Tuesday.  I was at work in downtown Billings (where I was not supposed to have my cell phone out) when my phone started blowing up in my desk drawer.  After about the third call in fairly rapid succession, I was a little concerned and took my phone into the bathroom to check my messages, thinking that perhaps someone had been in a wreck or something similar.  This was not, however, the case. No, in fact, my little dog had taken herself on an impromptu career day.

First she did a little excavating and moved a rather large rock and a landscape brick out of her way, I would guess this endeavor was assisted by the red Aussie that was also living at my house during this period.  Then she worked on her escape artist act and wiggled her fat little self through the newly rediscovered gap beneath the gate.  This is where my voicemail messages picked up the story.

The first message went like this: “Hi, I think your dog is out.  She is out here in my yard.  Call me back.”

So I called him back.  I asked if he could please grab my dog and just keep her in his yard until I could get there.  Nope. She stopped and did a little food critic work, eating some of the bread that he had left out for the birds before continuing on her adventure.

The second message was similar: “Hi your dog is on the loose.  Call me back.”

I called him back and once again, my dog was no longer there.  She had chased a rabbit to the edge of the fence and then trotted back to the front of the house, where she hopped her fat little self right up into the mail lady’s truck and rode off.

I was a bit irritated at this point.  My dog is a Jack Russell Terrier.  She’s rather low to the ground, so for someone to be able to read my phone number on her tag, they would have pretty much had to have a hold of her.  Nobody, however, felt the need to just hold onto her for a few minutes.

The third message was more encouraging. “Hey Devienne.  The mail lady was just here and she had your dog.  I have her in my yard.  Give me a call.”  This man is a retired mechanic and used to be a volunteer fireman with my dad, so he knows me a little.  I was so relieved when he told me that he and his wife would keep her for me until I could get there.

I raced home from work on an early extended lunch and picked up my little dog.  I then moved a cinder block and a larger rock under the gate to prevent any further Houdini ideas my little terror might dream up. That is quite enough career days for a little dog and her panicked owner.