On the lam

I admit that I'd left them in the yard for quite a while...but understand that every other time I've found them lazing in the sun near the garage, or rooting about in the compost pile. This time, however, when I called only Crisfield came bounding up. I walked around to the back, knowing that my bus was coming any minute, and wondering if I could ever justify leaving the house when a dog was out and about.

Sometimes, Oryx is too engrossed in something disgusting to come when I call. But she wasn't anywhere that I could see, she was gone.

I walked to the end of the driveway, looked up the street and down the street, and then to the soccer fields and playground across Pontiac Trail. There, by the goal, was something that looked like a very large fox, or a very hairy skink - Oryx.

I crossed the street, called her name and crouched low with my hand extended. She looked wary at first, and knew she was in trouble, but started towards me with her traditional twinkle-toed trot. She came faster and faster - ears up, tail curled - but as she neared me, she took a wide arc to sniff out my anger level.

I wasn't angry, I was relieved to see her safe and interested...I was glad she had an adventure and was coming home, healthy as always. I held onto her collar as we crossed, but when we got to the bottom of the driveway I let her go and told her: "Back yard, good girl." She bolted to the safety of her home and stood in by the side door, yodeling her homecoming.