I had a big scare this evening. I was over at my folks’ place. They were out; in fact, they were 20 miles away. I went out in the back yard to clean up dog poop. Our two dogs went with me, and ran off to enjoy the grass and bushes and check the fence line for velociraptors.

Happy usually goes around the west side of the house to use the bathroom, and I headed that way too, but stopped in Dad’s tool shed to answer the phone. I patiently gave a man my Mom’s mobile number, twice, then got the pooper scoopers, and headed around the west side of the house. Then I saw that the gate was wide open to the front yard — to the neighborhood, the street, to oblivion for a little dog.

I was sure that Happy — a little Pomeranian who looks like Piper, below — was out and gone. I ran through the gate, slammed it, ran to the street and looked around. She was nowhere. I went back to the house, trying to reach my Mom with my cell, but of course she was talking to the Man I’d just given her number to. I went through the front door, yelling for Happy, trying to whistle which isn’t easy when you’re winded and upset. She came running into the hallway to meet me. I picked her up and hugged her, and thanked God.

I guess she never went around that side of the house, and trotted back inside like a good little dog. Both dogs seemed concerned with my frantic state, my furious relief. Listen, folks, be careful with your little ones, OK? For dogssake, shut the friggin gate.