Devil dog

I nearly got the pants scared off me last night by a devil dog.

I had been working away at my computer when Tank and Alpha Bitch decided it was time to go out to potty, so I opened the back door and sent them on their way. I went back to my computer, and some time later I thought it seemed odd that they had been out for so long.

When I went to the back door to let them back in, I was surprised to find that the outdoor light wasn't on. That's odd because a couple of years ago, I had a dog killed by something that had apparently come over the back fence after her, and I have been edgy about letting animals out after dark since then.

A few seconds later, my heart was in my mouth when neither of the dogs came when I opened the door, nor when I called them, nor when I stepped out on the back steps to look for them. The back light isn't bright enough and doesn't cover enough of the yard for me to have seen bodies in corners away from where I stood. Horrified by what I might find, I reached back inside and grabbed a flashlight to begin a search of the yard.

A few seconds later, I heard AB's whimper to get in—from outside the back gate.

I crossed the yard quickly, opened the gate, and welcomed her back in, more relieved that she was alive than angry that she had somehow gotten out. Hot on her heels, I heard big, soft feet hitting the ground behind her and something breathing hard and heavy as it ran. Tank nearly knocked us both over as he charged through the gate.

Relieved to see them both alive, I hurried them into the house, clutched my flashlight, and shut the back door behind me as I went to check for damage to the fence or for a hole they might have dug under it.

As I reached the front gate on the final stretch of fence, I heard something large beating its way through the iron plant that grows thick and dark outside. Terrified that it might have been the animal that killed my last dog, I flapped my arms and yelled for it to go away, and after a few seconds, it ran toward the street. It must have done an about-face a few yards away, because it doubled back to the fence with its heavy breathing, and its eyes flashed yellow when I turned my flashlight on it. The light scared it enough that it turned away again, so I barely caught sight of the white flashes of Tank's vest and tail.

Heart back in my throat again—this time I not only knew Tank had gotten out but I had tried to scare him away—I brushed the flashlight across the front of the fence to assure myself that it wasn't damaged or dug under, and headed into the house to try to figure out how to catch him.

The best trick so far has been to grab the fetch ball and bounce it on the driveway to trick him into coming to play. I grabbed the ball and the chunker, headed out the front door, and gave the ball a bounce.

AB appeared from the far side of the house, grabbed the ball  in midair and ran through the house to the back yard with it because, after all, fetch is a backyard game.

AB wasn't giving up the ball, so I ran back through the house and tried to listen for evidence of Tank's whereabouts. As Number One Son says, Tank is a hunter and doesn't make much noise when he's on the loose, but that normally doesn't stop the other dogs in the neighborhood from pitching a fit when he comes around. The street seemed quiet, and it was late enough at night that the nearby highway was quiet, too. But that didn't really make me feel better.

I grabbed my cell phone and texted NOS that Tank was out, but I had no idea where. He called back: he and  Shrek were at a bar downtown, but they could be back home in 5 or 10 minutes to help me look. He suggested some spots where Tank has shown up before (and I knew a couple of others), and told me to hang tight.

I checked the likely spots, but I didn't expect more than I got because the street was so quiet. I started on the side of the house where I had seen him near the gate and found out how he had gotten out: I had opened a low front window about a week ago to let in te crisp, cool fall air, and the screen was teetering on the garden rail that lies along the drip line under the eaves.

As quiet as our street was, I rather suspected that the two of them had initially gone out behind the house, toward the creek that runs along the back property line, and possibly as far as three blocks away, which is possible to do without crossing a single street. In fact,this time I heard occasional barks from that direction, and since the barks seemed to "move" ever so often, I had a pretty comfortable feeling that that was where he was. Or as comfortable as you can have if your heart is in your mouth and your stomach is in a knot.

I decided that late at night when sounds carry well, Tank might hear me and AB playing fetch, so I headed back in to play with her. After all, she was the good one who had come back quickly the second time, so she sort of deserved a chance to play. And playing with her would sort of keep my mind off whatever might have been happening to Tank.

I continued to call Tank intermittently as AB and I played, until I eventually gave up on the game and went to the back gate to call him some more. The barking across the way continued to wax and wane, and after a bit I heard thundering paws again. I started to open the back gate as something flashed by heading northward and I heard the soft sound of a car easing down the street.

Within a couple of seconds, I heard NOS's command: "Down, Tank! Sit!"

"You got him?" I yelled.

"Yeah. He's in my car," he yelled back.

NOS is determined to make Tank behave, and he's not cutting him a lot of slack. It took most of an hour for NOS to let him do much more than breathe without responding to specific commands. And he seems to have gotten the message, at least for the evening; no telling what will happen if he gets a chance to run again.

Devil dog.