What Once Was Lost. . .

This evening I noticed the door to the garage was open. I pointed it out to the boys and told them to close it before Boomer the Basset Hound escaped. He's been known to do that once in a while, including twice already today! He loves the crisp Autumn air and can't believe he's not allowed to roam free like the King of the Beasts that he believes he is. Needless to say every piece of literature I have run across discussing qualities and problems associated with Basset Hounds state that they get lost easily. They take to a smell, follow it, and when they look up 15 minutes later they have no idea where they are. Every person I have mentioned this to asks "Why don't they just follow the smell the other way?" I have no idea why they don't do that, but it would make life so much easier. In Boomer the Basset Hound's two years with us we have mounted several Search and Rescue missions, always a success.

Tonight was different. When I noticed he had snuck out while all our backs were turned (you'd think he was a convict), I instantly grabbed Baby, the only one home, and drove off looking for him. There wasn't much daylight left and I knew how devastated all 3 C's would be if he wasn't home that night. Baby said three prayers in a desperate effort to aid our search.

When Middle Child came home he went out in the dark looking for his dog. When he got home he sat on Boomer the Basset Hound's sofa and cried.

When First Born arrived home he tried to call 911 first. I stated that even though Boomer the Basset Hound may be an emergency for us, it doesn't consitute an emergency for the police. So he also searched for his dog. But alas, it was pitch dark out and he couldn't see a thing. He also sat on Boomer the Basset Hound's sofa and cried. My boys rarely cry. They throw tantrums and fits and holler, but they don't cry unless they have a really good reason. Tonight they had one of the best reasons ever. They had lost their other brother.

All night long I had randomly sent children to the front door to make sure Boomer the Basset Hound hadn't come home and was waiting for us, too short to ring the doorbell. I finally checked the door, thinking I would be calling the Pound in the morning. BUT, WAIT! What little nose is pressed against the storm door? Who's tail is wagging? Who is looking so happy that he got a walk completely on his terms? Who is at my front door? Boomer the Basset Hound! He decided it was dark and time to come home. All three boys welcomed him with tears and hugs. Boomer the Basset Hound wagged a happy tail and tried to eat their dinner.