Once Might Be an Accident, Twice Might Be an Oversight, But Third Time's a Conspiracy

Last night, the dogs were acting up on the porch. I don't know what got into them. Sure, The Pony and I came home about an hour late. But we still patted those fleabags, and I gave them their treat ration of cat kibble.

Around about 10:30, after The Pony had gone upstairs to get ready for bed, I heard a howl. Our dogs are not normally howlers. They yip. Sometimes in a syncopated manner, so you can't quite predict the next bark, which is especially irritating. Or Ann the black German shepherd will let loose with a baur baur baur string of chair-nap-awakening nonsense.

This was a mournful howl. Not at all like the fierce barks we've heard all week, our dogs baying at the demon poodle across the road. I don't know why those folks let him out at night. That mournful howl makes my hair stand on end. They did it when our 13-year-old dog Grizzly died. I'm not superstitious (okay, I'm really, really superstitious). That howl makes me wonder where every member of my family is, and if they're all right. I heard that howl on the side porch again at 11:30. And on the front porch at 1:00.

Of course I looked in on The Pony when I went upstairs, because the minute I rounded the landing and started through the living room, I head a footstep over by his room. He was fine. When I went to bed, I checked to make sure Hick was breathing, not just spraying automatic germy air out his breather. He was exhaling, and the breather was forcing air into his snout. That howling upset me. Thank goodness I didn't hear a Deathwatch Beetle, and have to rip up the floor like Sandra Bullock in Practical Magic!

This morning there were no dogs to be found. So I couldn't chastise them for the howling, while they heard WAH WAH WAH like I was Charlie Brown's teacher. When we got home after school, only Ann came to greet me, so I gave her a tiny bit of cat kibble. I figured my sweet, sweet Juno was in her house by the kitchen door. Ann has been stealing it the minute Juno runs out. Juno is no fool. She knows I'll toss a tasty treat into her house if she doesn't come get the kibble. In fact, I had saved The Pony's half-sandwich (he's been off his feed since that cell-phone-licking virus took hold) from yesterday for this very special after-school snack.

Juno was not in her house. I asked The Pony if he'd seen her. "Yeah. This morning we saw her."

"No. I think that was yesterday. We were running late this morning, and I don't remember stopping to pet her. You don't think she's in the BARn again, do you?"

"Uhhie uh." Which I think translates to 'I don't know.'

Hick came in a few minutes later. It was going on 5:30 by then. "Hey. Did you see Juno?"

"No. Haven't seen her. Not even last night."

"We fed her--uh--we saw her after school yesterday. But not this morning, and not tonight. You didn't lock her up in the BARn again, did you?"

"No! I wasn't in the BARn. I was working with the Sword Shack. Putting stuff in there."

"Well, she's missing. I hope she's not laying hurt somewhere."

Hick went off to feed the fowl. And putter with the Sword Shack. At 6:15 he called me.

"Juno is over here in the BARn!"

"Imagine that. Good thing you checked, just to humor me."

"Well, I was only in there a minute last night."

"She's been locked up all day! She'll need something to eat. And it was 87 degrees today! She must be parched!"

"Naw. She ran out and took a poop. Then she ran down to the creek for a good long drink. It was COOL in the BARn. She's fine."

"You give her some food!"

"She can run over to the house and eat out of her dog pan."

"You better make sure there's food in there. She missed her breakfast, and something else probably ate it through the day."

"She'll be fine. I guess I need to start calling her when I lock up. Dumb dog needs to learn to come out when I leave."

Yeah. Because my sweet, sweet Juno know when Hick us carrying stuff to the Sword Shack and returning, and when he is not coming back.

How many times is this now? I shudder to think. I suppose every morning that I don't see her, I should drive by the BARn and make The Pony check to see if Juno is inside.

I guess poor dumb Ann was trying, in her own way, to tell me Juno was missing last night.