This Side Up

In the doghouse…once again

John Howell
Posted 2/24/15

Snow filled the air. It was coming down softly. The wind hadn’t started to blow…yet. Roger Keefe pulled up in his black pickup truck and leaned out the window.

“You’re in the doghouse,” …

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This Side Up

In the doghouse…once again

Posted

Snow filled the air. It was coming down softly. The wind hadn’t started to blow…yet. Roger Keefe pulled up in his black pickup truck and leaned out the window.

“You’re in the doghouse,” he said with a smile.

He was right. I had hoped to see Ollie in the front seat with him, but there was no dog.

“Last I saw him he was headed toward the marsh, after the ducks.”

Roger had been on these chases before. It was becoming an all-too-familiar tale. Roger was on Bellman Avenue when he spotted Ollie’s black, brown and white form lopping down the road, ready for the hunt. Roger followed. Ollie must have thought it part of the plan. He was in the lead, his head in the air catching the scent. He didn’t slow down when Roger pulled ahead and opened the door.

This was fun; he was the head of the pack.

I was way behind, trudging along in the heavy insulated Sorel boots that have become regular part of my attire this winter. I was glad to have them on. It was refreshing and, in a strange way, I was enjoying the snow, the silence and following Ollie’s unwavering tracks leading into the white ahead. But I was also anxious. Where would I find Ollie?

Carol and I thought it was safe to turn him loose in the yard. Earlier in the week, she called Mike Moriarty at Invisible Fence. He assured us the collar would work even with all this snow. He suggested that the collar may have loosened and that we should check it. I went a step further. I went to the two ends of the yard where the invisible fence is designed to keep Ollie on the property. Yes, it worked. I could feel the tingling through my gloves.

We then checked the perimeter. Snowdrifts looked far enough away from the stockade and chain-linked fences to avert an escape. We did the same thing after the second big storm of the winter. That was the day of the 10-hour escape.

It was one of those rare days when it wasn’t snowing. Ollie was delighted to be free in the yard. He buried his nose in the snow and bounded through the drifts, gaining speed on the driveway and other cleared areas. He was having a blast and we imagined he would soon be at the door, anxious for breakfast. But there was no clanging of the cowbell that we’ve added to his invisible fence collar. We stood outside and listened. We thought we heard the bell, but it was well beyond our yard.

That was the start of an anxious day that didn’t end until dusk and a posse had joined us. Roger was one of the first and then Ginny and Lonnie Barham. The numbers grew as word went out. We alerted animal control, posted Ollie’s photo on Facebook and passed the word again. The first sighting came in that afternoon. A dog fitting Ollie’s description was seen in Cole Farm, about a mile north. Carol and I divided the area. I criss-crossed the streets north to Hoxsie. She went south. I asked everyone I saw, including a UPS deliveryman who hadn’t seen any loose dogs but often saw dogs on the beach at the end of Rock Avenue. I headed there and a police cruiser was there. He hadn’t seen Ollie, but vowed, “We’ll find him,” and notified other officers. Mail carriers promised to be on the lookout. I gave them our phone numbers.

I headed home, finding an assembly on Winter Street. There were more sightings. He was on the beach.

Then, all of a sudden there he was, jumping through the snow in the right-of-way to the beach. He still had his collar and bell. He looked thrilled to be the center of attention. Everyone was talking and smiling. The chase was over and Ollie leapt into the car. I shouted to Carol that I had him.

But I didn’t.

Ollie jumped out and sprinted down the road. He passed Carol and, once on West Shore, headed south. The posse followed.

He was back in the lead. He turned back toward the house, and it was Lonnie who finally got a leash on him as he returned to the beach. Ollie was stiff, hungry and thirsty. Lonnie, Roger, Carol, Ginny and the rest of the troops must have been, too.

Carol looked at the positive side. He was on his way home. He knew where he belonged. That thought occurred as I followed the tracks and scanned for Ollie. It was late afternoon. He would want to be home by nightfall…or would he?

Carol picked me half way down Shawomet. She left me off at Point Avenue. There were Ollie’s fresh tracks going down Coldwell. The street is closed to traffic so his footprints were deep and easy to follow. At one point I spotted him, nose to the ground, on the hunt way ahead. I didn’t dare call, fearing that would only spur him on. I finally caught up as he was looking out into the bay, watching the ducks. The snow was deep and I was able to grab him. I slipped a rope through his collar and he pulled ahead, ready to lead. We reached Point Avenue and waited in the falling snow. He was peaceful. He sat. Carol came along in five minutes and we piled into the car.

Ollie was delighted to see her; she was happy to have him back.

We were mystified. How did he get out? Had he ignored the shock of his collar and gone through the invisible fence?

The snow would have the answer. Once home and armed with flashlights we walked the invisible fence. Ollie’s tracks followed it, but nowhere did he cross it. The collar had worked.

But then, how had he vaulted the chain-link fence?

The answer was so simple we wondered why it had eluded us. We had shoveled the snow out of his pen and doing so had built a bridge over the fence. Ollie’s prints were there to prove it.

Carol and I looked at each other. We were thinking the same thing. Ollie won’t be running loose in the yard again until the drifts have melted. He’ll be staying in his pen…and in the doghouse.

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