Three times a day, we go out to the yard. (There’s a dog door out to the back that they can take any time they want, but we also do the formal bolt-for-the-side-yard. I shut them in and go do things like wake up or start lunch and then go back to see Mona and Veronica looking at me through the pickets, tragedy in canine form.
Since we do this three times a day every damn day, it’s lost its pathos, but I let them out and they race back to the house, free at last. Except today Milton was busy with a piece of cardboard he’d found, so I let the girls out, closed the gate, and went back in the house to make sure the girls had gotten in okay.
When I came back out ten minutes later, there was this:
There’s a reason my across-the-street neighbor calls Milton “Houdini.” Now I have to put a rock there to slow him down.
OTOH, he’s really cute, even with his head stuck in a picket fence.
This has been your Moment of Dog.