Husky/Shepherd/Silly Putty Mix

I found another really good use for The Simple Life yesterday. If you watch like 3 or 4 episodes in a row, you can almost let go of the anxiety and horror you experience when your crazy dog jumps out of your car and runs away.

It's OK, we found him. But not before I ran around Colma for 20 minutes in a pair of bowling shoes, clutching my cell phone, crying hysterically, and asking everyone I saw if they'd seen a big white dog. After a while I found a couple of police officers--obviously sent from god--who alerted the Colma, Daily City and South San Francisco police departments of the situation. They joined my own personal search committee, comprised of Miriam, Kate, Laura and Brian (We were just about to begin a friendly little bowling competition when I was alerted to the fact that there was a crying dog in a station wagon in the parking lot. When I went out to check on him, the original dog count had been reduced by one.). I was already beyond the point of loosing it when Laura and Brian called--they found Ozzy sitting quietly in front of a Walgreens about 4 blocks away.

Anyone here who can tell me how a 65 pound dog with a chest which is, at it's narrowest, 16 inches across fits through a 3 1/2 inch crack in the window wins a big, big prize. Apparently, he was motivated. While I was wandering around looking for him, I passed a cemetery (Colma is nothing but cemeteries--weird place) that was having some sort of odd celebration involving fire crackers. We couldn't hear the fire crackers from the parking lot at the bowling alley, but Ozzy's canine super hearing had no trouble distinguishing one of the scariest noises in the world, second only to thunder. Within 15 minutes of arriving at the bowling alley, he lost it and decided to use his other canine super power--contortion--to escape the evil noises.

Of course, Ozzy was just fine and dandy after all was said and done. I had been reduced to bawling, slobbering, mucasy mess--and poor Nanna was a witness to the whole thing; yet another reason cars are bad, bad, bad. I'm glad he's home safe and sound, but sometimes I want to chop his little doggie feet off. In a good way.