Every morning this week, I drop the hooligans off at camp--I've finally wised up. The last week of summer is when summer gets too long. I've outsourced it this year.
Each day I come home, and there is the dog, sitting on the front steps, grinning. He bounds over, absurdly pleased with himself. He is all tail, wagging from one end to the other.
How is he getting out? All the doors are closed, all the gates are closed. I think he's leaping out the dining room window. Or he's magic. (I had a magical labrador, years ago. She could levitate to the top of the fridge and devour a whole cheese cake in the time it took to take a shower. Why do I like dogs?) I'm sure he left a horrible steaming pile in one of my neighbor's yards--my apologies. We will add "close all downstairs windows" to our morning checklist, right after "make your bed" and before "brush your teeth".
Meanwhile, out on the back forty...one of the three box turtles has gone AWOL. This is bad, as they are very quiet, well camouflaged and disinclined to draw attention to themselves. They're the opposite of the Hooligans. Finding her will be a matter of luck. (We know it's a her because there is one boy and two girls--it's kind of turtle porn scene sometimes. Very educational....)
Once last summer, the dog was actually useful, when he located a lost turtle. Turtles climb better and move faster than you would think. Also, would you expect a turtle to even have the urge to explore? They seem like sedentary creatures. We keep them well supplied with snails and slugs aka: crunchy wiggles. Today I will be improving the top of the turtle pen.