spring and sprung

rock it, you crocus, you!! oh, it's actually warm AND humid today! what? oh, bring it, i love it. i'm so ready for spring.

and while i'm on the topic of spring, let's consider sprung.

don't let the vantage point fool you, this ain't no big dog, it's a mini-dachshund!

like the name i'm considering adopting for roscoe, our ever-disappearing rascal of a dachshund.

it's either going to be schprung (the german past-tense of schpring) or it's gonna be houdini.

it's not like our backyard is such a goat ranch it's so unbearable that out little weiners can't wait to escape. i actually think it's the thrill of the escape. the feel of the earth between his little claws that excites his little heart.

so last night, the hubster lets out the pups for before-bed-business. out the back. to the fenced in oasis, we call the backyard. (and while it is quasi-goat ranch-ish, it's not that bad). the hubster gets busy doing something else, i open the door, one comes in and i figure the others are already in. the hubster says, hmmmm, the dogs have been out for awhile. did you let them back in?

me: yeah, bailey's back (typical. even if there would be a lit path under the fence with an usher, she'd still look at the hole with that cocked-head expression and wonder what in the world that is for and stay in the yard).

so i go out front, give a whistle with which i'm sure the neighbors are quite familiar, and here comes emma trotting home. hmmmm. gate is closed. hmmmmm. new hole?? gah, i'll check tomorrow. leave the fence propped open. (farbeit for them to return from whence they escaped) and know that when roscoe decides to slink back home, he'll go to the doggy door in the garage and will have a safe place to sleep off his hangover.

sure enough. 2:20. bark. 

bark.

bark.

me: grrrrr. (i hate being a light sleeper!!)

roscoe: let me in, i'm tired!

me: not on your chance, buddy. i'm really angry with you and you can sleep out here. i shut the hatch on the doggy door (technically it's a cat door, but don't tell them) and glare in roscoe's direction. the glare is returned. i could seriously have a staring contest, but then i would never get back to sleep. 

have i mentioned that i really did grrrrr?

now it is the next day, and the gateway to freedom has yet to be discovered. 

maybe we will call him houdini after all!

what, who me?