It's embarrassing to admit when you've been outwitted by creatures whose combined brain mass would hardly equal a peach. It's embarrassing, a little painful, but necessary. If you read "The Daily Ritual", you might realize we are now down to one dog (If you didn't read it, go ahead. I'll wait...

...You're back? Good). As I mentioned in "There be dogs here", Buster and Tigger were consumnate escape artists. Or so I thought. As things developed, I discovered that Tigger was the ringleader. Buster was only a stooge.

Buster is a submissive dog. You call, he comes. You scold, he cowers. You greet him too enthusiastically, he pees (Hey! He's a dog! They do that sort of thing).

Tigger, on the other hand, was independent. You call, maybe he'll come. When he's good and ready. You scold, he trots to a safe distance and tries to figure out what pissed you off this time. You greet him too enthusiastically, he growls. Tigger wanted to be the boss, and the only person he could dominate (and get away with it) was Buster.

Tigger never let Buster sleep in the doghouse unless it was so cold that he wanted some warmth. Buster could not eat until Tigger was finished. Tigger was the instigator of all the escapes. It's not so much that he wanted to get away, but that he wanted to be able to come and go as he pleased. Buster, on the other hand, just wanted to please. When Tigger escaped, Buster didn't like being left alone, so he'd tag along.

When the citation for "Dogs roaming the neighborhood" arrived in the mail, I did the honorable thing. The next afternoon when I came home from work, I brought Tigger to the Animal Control Center and turned him in. He greeted me in the driveway. "Hey, boss! How'djer day go?"

When I came in the door of the Animal Shelter, there were cries of recognition from several of the Animal Control officers. It seems that Tigger was something of a legend. "He always knew where to run so we couldn't follow." said one officer. "He's as crafty as they come." said another.

They had seen the back fence of my yard. On the inside there was chicken wire stretched along the fence-bottom. In the places where the holes had gotten too big to fill in, there were cinder blocks. I had put plastic garden edging in certain places to keep them from digging out. The entire fence along the back alley was lined with cinder blocks. I would've topped the fence with razor wire, but it woudn't have done any more good. They weren't getting over the fence. The afternoon I turned him in, I had to put two blocks that weighed more than he did back into position. He had simply shoved them out of the way.

The Municipal Judge suspended the fine when he learned that I had turned in the ringleader. Buster hasn't attempted to escape since Tigger has gone. He gets to eat when he wants, and doesn't have to vie for attention with another dog when someone comes into the yard to visit. He gets to sleep in the doghouse. For Buster, it's definitely a happy ending.

For Tigger, I hope it's been a happy ending, too. He was generally good-natured, if somewhat aloof, and he was very cute. According to my son-in-law, his picture was in the paper in an "Adopt Me" ad. I would wager there was a line of people waiting to adopt him the next morning. I'd like to think so.

Wouldn't you?

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