Here for some puppy cuteness? Meet Olive and Bernadette.

We love our woolly bullies...even when they flooded our house!


In keeping with the tone of my blog, I will try to refrain from swearing in this post.


I'm home from my big adventure and am contemplating whether or not to break Pica's legs (To Readers: Of course I would never do this. To Pica: You're dead meat, you little punk!) I was walking her and Biscuit to the mailbox today. When we were almost there, Pica's leash detached from her harness. It just kinda slipped off and rested on top of her. I tried to act like nothing was wrong, hoping to inch close enough to Pica to pick her up. She bolted!

She just ran and ran and ran. So what did I do? I ran and ran and ran too, faster than any person should ever run (and especially faster than I should ever run. Whew!) First I was dragging Biscuit behind me, then I used her harness to pull her up, bungee-style, like some kind of flying, daredevil chihuahua that will probably haunt her for the rest of her life. This made it easier to run but much more difficult to grab Pica. Eventually I had to stop to rest.

That smart-ass Pica stopped too, looked back at me, then took off again (&*#%!!!) I watched as a car swerved just in time not to kill her. The woman driving, who I found out is a fellow Jack Russell Terrier owner and therefore knew exactly what was going on, (did you know that even the dog from Frasier couldn't be trusted off a leash if not contained?) opened the passenger door for me.

I know, I know. You're not supposed to accept rides from strangers. In Biscuit and I hopped anyway, slamming the door and holding on as the driver did a U-Turn (pretty sure our HOA frowns upon that) and sped off after my rotten little dog. Pica, who had been content to run along the street, turned to run down the arroyo and disappeared. I thanked the woman and resumed chasing Pica on foot, Biscuit still in tow. We couldn’t catch her. I wandered, calling her name for about an hour before heading home.

Sexy Nerd, who wasn't home yet, called me on my cell phone. A girl had caught Pica and called the number on her collar. When I called to arrange pick up (and in my fantasy, a beating) of my brat dog, I was told some unsurprising news. Pica had been found, but had escaped, once again darting merrily down the street (damn that wiggly little dog!) Exhausted, I hung up and made a stack of lost dog posters.

Good news (though this would have been better before I printed 50 posters): The girl who caught Pica originally had been walking her dog and, as they continued on their way, she came across Pica again, this time being adored by a group of kids. The girl was able to hold onto her, firmly, long enough for me to drive over. That crazy dog made it all the way to...ummm...well, I don’t remember exactly where, (it has been a very long afternoon!) but it's quite a few miles from my house.

 Save the cute look for some other sucker. Pica, your walking days are over!


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