I received a phone call at 4:40 p.m. It was an angry El Hubbo screaming into the phone that the dogs had gotten out, the back gate was wide open, and he and the kids were driving around our neighborhood (which consists of two one-block streets in the middle of a cotton field - I am not exaggerating) looking for the dogs.
Alright, I sigh, I am on my way.
You see, this is not the first time that my darling little Rocky (who puts the "spring" in English Springer Spaniel) has chosen stormy weather to stage a prison break. (Reference one of the earliest WTM blogs titled, "Dog Gone Evening" from 3/15/10) And, I know he is the mastermind because Charlie is a big galoot that is looking for love in all the wrong places all the time and will willingly follow Rocky everywhere as long as it does not involve jumping.
At least at that very moment, it was bright and sunny, although the storms of the previous evening/night/morning had left the aforementioned cotton fields more like the bogs of Ireland than the usual dry and dusty West Texas plains.
I passed El Hubbo as I headed to our neighborhood. A quick call and we formed a game plan - he was driving south on the major roads bordering the cotton field, I was going to go to the end of the road in our neighborhood that stretched partway into the pasture behind the house and see if I could see the dogs anywhere. They had last been seen at 4:00, so we were hopeful they hadn't gotten far.
It's amazing how far a determined English Springer Spaniel and dopey cowdog mix can get in 45 minutes.
I parked the car, got out with my phone, and fortunately, my brand-spanking new rain boots I had shown off at work that day. I started to step out in the mud....kept walking calling the dogs.....kept walking.....looking for sign.....found sign!!! My dad would be proud of his daughter - I tracked those dogs through mud and muck up on high ground. My ancestors who helped carve homes out of the wilderness would have been proud. I was proud of me!
And I was tired. I am too old and too out-of-shape to be tracking miscreant dogs through a muddy pasture. Then I heard noises behind me - Jake and Emma had waded out into the field following their mama. At this point, waiting on them was not an option - we were in survival mode. The little one managed to catch up - but it's really not fair, she doesn't weigh much, so she didn't sink down in the mud like her big brother and her mama. Number One Son kept hollering to wait, but I kept hollering for him to hurry up as I trudged on. I looked back at one point and he was sunk down to both knees.
And, because we weren't having enough fun at this point, it started to cloud up and rain on us again. Excellent. It wasn't hard enough to track the dogs. And, the kids and I were the tallest things for over a mile, so we would make great lightning rods.
About that time, I saw the escapees! They were having a grand time chasing rabbits and each other through mud puddles and under fences. I called El Hubbo, who played the "I have a bad hip" card and was driving around rather uselessly. The conversation went something like this:
"I found them!"
"Where?"
"In this field that you saw me walk out into....."
"Well, duh."
"Well, you asked the question.....now, drive over to the dirt road off the other road and we'll drive them down to you."
"Where?"
"THE DIRT ROAD OFF THE OTHER DIRT ROAD!"
"You mean the one over there?"
"Yes"
I sent Emma up ahead hoping the dogs would come to her. I called and she called and finally here they came.
I looked back, Jake was still stuck. Oh well, the spare heir was just going to have to do.
Emma and I started driving the dogs down a muddy dirt road. We were walking through some pretty tall weeds and grass at the end of the rows when I decided it would be smarter to crawl down and get on the side that didn't have tall grass and weeds where snakes liked to lurk.
One problem: the road was under water. As I was contemplating our situation, a pick up made it's way down the road. A very kind man asked if we needed help, but since he was travelling the wrong way, I told him, thank you, but we were driving our dogs down the other direction. He waved and went on.
I tell Emma, "I am going to carry you across." I start to step down and sunk almost two feet into mud. New plan needed.
Nevermind, Emma, watch for snakes.
Another Jake check: He had removed his shoes and was carrying them while sloshing through the mud. I might not have to claim to not know what happened to him after all!
We are now probably 2 miles into our muddy trek. That is approximately 1.9 miles more than I walk in a typical day. And, to be clear, I do not generally walk in mud.
At one point, as I was bent over heaving great gasps of air, I managed to note that my brand new rain boots were not so brand new looking anymore. El Hubbo called and he had collected the dogs as they came to the road. I tried to respond, but the sucking wind noise was the best I could do.
I did a kid check: one in front and pulling away. One behind and losing ground. I decide to wait a few minutes and see if Jake could catch up. And, possibly carry me to the road. About that time, the nice man came back down the road. I see him stop near Jake, and Jake shook his head no. Apparently I had trained my son well in the tenet of not accepting a ride from a stranger. The gentleman came down the road to me and I all but slid down the embankment and threw myself on the hood of his truck. Apparently my parents failed to train me well int he tenet of not accepting a ride from a stranger.
I greeted him and his wife, introducing myself as his neighbor across the field (yes, that is a thing in Texas) and he let the tailgate down. I was covered in mud at this point...oh, and still in my nice work clothes.....and it was raining......I hopped up and hollered at Jake to hurry up. We stopped ahead and picked up the other child, and he hauled us to the end of the road, where El Hubbo got to meet our neighbors. Did I mention El Hubbo was nice and dry in a warm truck.
We thanked the nice folks, and then hopped in El Hubbo's truck. I was less concerned about the condition of the inside of his truck and allowed the mud to run right off onto the floorboards. That'll learn him.
Home we went, and the job was not done yet. I trudged through Swamp Martinez (our backyard) and examined the open gate. I utilized my basic southern engineering skills to secure the gate and trudged back. I informed El Hubbo that he was in charge of dinner, which he was more than happy to drive us somewhere.
On the way, he says, "I'm going to sell Rocky. Why do I need a hunting dog like him when I have a wife that can track like that?" I was too tired to hit him, but I'm pretty sure my glare said it all.
Everyone one is home, mostly dry and safe. So, we'll call it a win.
Alright, I sigh, I am on my way.
You see, this is not the first time that my darling little Rocky (who puts the "spring" in English Springer Spaniel) has chosen stormy weather to stage a prison break. (Reference one of the earliest WTM blogs titled, "Dog Gone Evening" from 3/15/10) And, I know he is the mastermind because Charlie is a big galoot that is looking for love in all the wrong places all the time and will willingly follow Rocky everywhere as long as it does not involve jumping.
At least at that very moment, it was bright and sunny, although the storms of the previous evening/night/morning had left the aforementioned cotton fields more like the bogs of Ireland than the usual dry and dusty West Texas plains.
I passed El Hubbo as I headed to our neighborhood. A quick call and we formed a game plan - he was driving south on the major roads bordering the cotton field, I was going to go to the end of the road in our neighborhood that stretched partway into the pasture behind the house and see if I could see the dogs anywhere. They had last been seen at 4:00, so we were hopeful they hadn't gotten far.
It's amazing how far a determined English Springer Spaniel and dopey cowdog mix can get in 45 minutes.
I parked the car, got out with my phone, and fortunately, my brand-spanking new rain boots I had shown off at work that day. I started to step out in the mud....kept walking calling the dogs.....kept walking.....looking for sign.....found sign!!! My dad would be proud of his daughter - I tracked those dogs through mud and muck up on high ground. My ancestors who helped carve homes out of the wilderness would have been proud. I was proud of me!
And I was tired. I am too old and too out-of-shape to be tracking miscreant dogs through a muddy pasture. Then I heard noises behind me - Jake and Emma had waded out into the field following their mama. At this point, waiting on them was not an option - we were in survival mode. The little one managed to catch up - but it's really not fair, she doesn't weigh much, so she didn't sink down in the mud like her big brother and her mama. Number One Son kept hollering to wait, but I kept hollering for him to hurry up as I trudged on. I looked back at one point and he was sunk down to both knees.
And, because we weren't having enough fun at this point, it started to cloud up and rain on us again. Excellent. It wasn't hard enough to track the dogs. And, the kids and I were the tallest things for over a mile, so we would make great lightning rods.
About that time, I saw the escapees! They were having a grand time chasing rabbits and each other through mud puddles and under fences. I called El Hubbo, who played the "I have a bad hip" card and was driving around rather uselessly. The conversation went something like this:
"I found them!"
"Where?"
"In this field that you saw me walk out into....."
"Well, duh."
"Well, you asked the question.....now, drive over to the dirt road off the other road and we'll drive them down to you."
"Where?"
"THE DIRT ROAD OFF THE OTHER DIRT ROAD!"
"You mean the one over there?"
I sent Emma up ahead hoping the dogs would come to her. I called and she called and finally here they came.
I looked back, Jake was still stuck. Oh well, the spare heir was just going to have to do.
Emma and I started driving the dogs down a muddy dirt road. We were walking through some pretty tall weeds and grass at the end of the rows when I decided it would be smarter to crawl down and get on the side that didn't have tall grass and weeds where snakes liked to lurk.
One problem: the road was under water. As I was contemplating our situation, a pick up made it's way down the road. A very kind man asked if we needed help, but since he was travelling the wrong way, I told him, thank you, but we were driving our dogs down the other direction. He waved and went on.
I tell Emma, "I am going to carry you across." I start to step down and sunk almost two feet into mud. New plan needed.
Nevermind, Emma, watch for snakes.
Another Jake check: He had removed his shoes and was carrying them while sloshing through the mud. I might not have to claim to not know what happened to him after all!
We are now probably 2 miles into our muddy trek. That is approximately 1.9 miles more than I walk in a typical day. And, to be clear, I do not generally walk in mud.
At one point, as I was bent over heaving great gasps of air, I managed to note that my brand new rain boots were not so brand new looking anymore. El Hubbo called and he had collected the dogs as they came to the road. I tried to respond, but the sucking wind noise was the best I could do.
I did a kid check: one in front and pulling away. One behind and losing ground. I decide to wait a few minutes and see if Jake could catch up. And, possibly carry me to the road. About that time, the nice man came back down the road. I see him stop near Jake, and Jake shook his head no. Apparently I had trained my son well in the tenet of not accepting a ride from a stranger. The gentleman came down the road to me and I all but slid down the embankment and threw myself on the hood of his truck. Apparently my parents failed to train me well int he tenet of not accepting a ride from a stranger.
I greeted him and his wife, introducing myself as his neighbor across the field (yes, that is a thing in Texas) and he let the tailgate down. I was covered in mud at this point...oh, and still in my nice work clothes.....and it was raining......I hopped up and hollered at Jake to hurry up. We stopped ahead and picked up the other child, and he hauled us to the end of the road, where El Hubbo got to meet our neighbors. Did I mention El Hubbo was nice and dry in a warm truck.
We thanked the nice folks, and then hopped in El Hubbo's truck. I was less concerned about the condition of the inside of his truck and allowed the mud to run right off onto the floorboards. That'll learn him.
Home we went, and the job was not done yet. I trudged through Swamp Martinez (our backyard) and examined the open gate. I utilized my basic southern engineering skills to secure the gate and trudged back. I informed El Hubbo that he was in charge of dinner, which he was more than happy to drive us somewhere.
On the way, he says, "I'm going to sell Rocky. Why do I need a hunting dog like him when I have a wife that can track like that?" I was too tired to hit him, but I'm pretty sure my glare said it all.
Everyone one is home, mostly dry and safe. So, we'll call it a win.
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