Shakespeare's Big Adventure

Robert Frost said good fences make good neighbors. Neighbors can be a boon when the fence fails, too.

I left Shakespeare and Mick at David and Linda Jessup's Loveland home during a visit to their Sylvan Dale working guest ranch outside of town. An eight-foot fence surrounded the yard, so my only concern was for the yard; I hoped my dogs wouldn't nap atop the flowers.

In the afternoon, while Linda was showing me the horses, a thunderstorm came up and a gully washer rain fell. After Linda and I had started for town, I remembered Mick and his Border collie terror of lightning and thunder. I hoped he'd find a place to hide under something. When we got to the house, the dogs were nowhere to be found.

I called them and Mick materialized from somewhere. Linda kindly invited him in the house. He ran to the bathroom, got in the shower stall and curled up small, hiding from the storm.

Shakespeare didn't come when called, but this didn't surprise me. At home, he won't emerge from his house during a storm even when I invite him inside. He is a comfort-loving dog and doesn't like to get wet.

Linda, David, and I went off to a meeting of Northern Colorado writers. When we returned, I began to get alarmed. The rain had stopped, but there was no sign of Shakespeare.

David said, "I found the gate open." Linda and I remembered shutting it.

I worried about Shakespeare loose in a town. He's a rural dog and not traffic savvy. I consoled myself that he had new rabies and ID tags on his collar if someone found him.

Linda made a call to the Humane Association and yes, they had a report of a found dog. He had turned up at the house next door.

Jerry, the neighbor, said that in the midst of the storm a large canine head had appeared in the living room window. The dog stranger wore a "May I please come in?" expression. They invited him in. The tags I'd had confidence in had come off and only the open, empty hook remained.

After the storm ended, Molly, a teenager, put a rope on Shakespeare and walked him around the neighborhood, trying to find his owner.

Once, a car slowed and the occupants rolled down their windows. Molly thought it must be the dog's owners.

"What breed is that cross-eyed dog?" a person called.

(Note: It's hard to guess Shakespeare's breed--German shepherd/malamute--because he's shorn for summer. But his eyes do not cross. He has one brown and one blue one.)

Next morning, while I was packing the car, Linda watched Shakespeare slap the gate with his great paw. He'd probably done that during the storm and dislodged the latch.

At home, I'm used to having generous next-door neighbors. It's a great thing to encounter them on the road, too.