It was a dark and stormy night.
We were supposed to get 7 inches of snow. It was, instead, pouring rain and spitting sleet with high winds.
Weather not fit for woman nor beast.
What does the Dopey Opie do?
He runs away again.
Dogmom's lipid. And war-reed. And wet.
She came home twice to get dry socks and shoes or boots. And a dry coat. And a different hat.
After 2.5 hours, she said she didn't care if he ever came back.
(We know she didn't mean it.)
Meanwhile, Opie's trekking through our neighborhood. And the one behind ours. And the one closest to the new 312 highway. And the one across Bavaria Road. And the one behind that. And ours again. And the wetlands behind the house. And the construction area. And ours again.
Dogmom came inside. She hugged me and called me a good boy. She hugged Floyd.
She turned off all the lights. And she sat in the dark for a while.
Then, she got up. And she grabbed the keys. And she opened the garage door all the way. And she got in our truck. And she started it. And she started to back out of the garage into the driveway.
And she heard a clunk. And she stopped.
And Opie's standing by the side of the truck.
She had run over the tie-out cord that was still attached to him. So he couldn't go anywhere.
So she grabbed the cord and put him in the back of the truck.
And she drove back into the garage from the driveway.
And she came inside and left Opie in the truck. For forever.
Eventually, she went out and got him and put him in the doggie jail.
He was wearing his soaking wet sweatshirt. She took it off.
His paws were bleeding. She cleaned them and bandaged him.
He was shivering. She gave him a blanket and dried him with his towel.
Then she closed to the door on the doggie jail and left him inside.
I think he's in BIG trouble.