The grass is always greener.
So, I arrive home for lunch to see Jackson where he normally is--perched atop a pillow on our bed. Chillin'. He rises up, stretches, looks and me and demands silently to be let outside. I figure to go out and do his business. I let him out, proceed to make my lunch and then catch up on some email. And like any other day, before leaving I offer to Jax the opportunity to come back inside. I open the door to see Jax laying in the dirt, his head lazily rises from the ground with that classic, "leave me the hell alone" look. "Suit yourself, ese." I close the door lock it and start my trek back to work.
I get off around 5:30 and get home. My lovely wife had yet to arrive from work. I walk out into the backyard. "Jackson, c'mere buddy." Nothing. Ah, he's sleeping. I'll sneak up to him, I think to myself. I go to the back of the garage, no Jax. I whip around thinking he's probably sneaking up on me. No Jax. I could hardly call out. I began to panic. I walk around the backyard looking for the hole he dug to which I found a little dirt dug out, but not enough room for a large beagle to fit through. But one thing I knew, Jax was not in our backyard.
Composure. Composure. Keep your cool, j3.
My mind hurried through possible scenarios. Where did he go? How long has he been gone? Did someone take our dog? Is he layin' dead in the middle of Route 66?
I hopped in Boggs and took off. I slowly wandered down the block, eyes peeled. My mind paced. All the sudden, it dawned on me. There's a small hole created by the utility company when our back yard flooded and it empties into our neighbors backyard because we have no alley. It's a possibility. I took a quick right and darted to our backyard neighbors house. I run up to the front door and ring the doorbell. No one's home. I peer around to the side of the house which was a large back yard area fenced in by a waste-high picket fence.
I see the neighbors little black dog ("Hey hey mama see the way you groove. Gonna make you dance, gonna make you groove.") come prancing around the edge of the house followed by a snappy, happy beagle with long legs and a tail moving at the speed of light. Our Jackson.
Stunned, I acted quickly. I run over to the fence, stoop over and grab Jax under his front legs and begin to heave him over the fence. He yelps in pain as I pulled on his legs then he scampers off with the other dog. He knew he was in trouble. "Stay put, Jackson."
A car pulls in across the street and I realize how suspicious I must look reaching into the backyard of their neighbor. I approach them quickly so as to not look any more suspicious than I already do. "I live on the other side of this house and my dog has dug his way into their yard. I need to get my dog out of their yard."
"Oh, they won't mind go ahead. There's a gate just next to the house. Help yourself."
Man, I love friendly people.
So I walked back up to the house, unlatched the gate, took Jackson up in my arm like a football, threw him in the car and headed back to the house. When I arrived, Jackson and I walked back to his hole under the fence. He rolls up into a ball because he knew what was coming. What was coming was three brisk spankings and a boisterous "no!" He ran back inside.
So here I sit watching my screener that just came in today of Bob Dylan's "No Direction Home" (appropriately named). Good stuff. Bob Dylan, despite being older than dirt actually is still quite articulate. Unless this interview was taken some time ago which is possible because he doesn't look as gray as I last remember. Anyway, Martin Scorsese directed it and it's more a historical piece. Kinda journey-type flick. We're in the Greenwich Village period now. Pretty captivating.Anyhow, happy Tuesday everyone. Love on your dog today. Let 'em know how happy you are to have them around. Obviously, my dog doesn't.
"I'll never leave you again, j3. I like it here."