She Thrice Was Lost

I love dogs. I am sad to say that I am one of the people who had dog "kids", but after they had real kids, let the family dog become, well...the family dog. I admire my friends who still keep the dog in the Christmas cards and still let the dog(s) sleep in their bed and cuddle with them. I just don't really do any of that anymore. That is not to say I do not enjoy the occasional snuggle and petting, it is just not the way it once was. My kids on the other hand looooove their Frankie. Like a sister. Sad, sad. Our dog of coming up on 7 years has a history of getting out. She has escaped near death twice. We lost her parter in crime about a year and a half ago and it was devastating. Still, when the girl gets out--she heads straight for the highway and there is no looking back. Sunday night, we all returned home. We put the kids to bed. Brent and I settled into bed to watch Mad Men on DVR. After the show, I went to turn the air down and I realized Frankie was not with us on the bed. Nor was she on her red floor pillows. Nor was she on the couch upstairs. Nor was she scratching on the backdoor to come in. All of her usuals. I looked outside in our huge, dark backyard...silence. Frankie is not one to stay outside. Oh no. She got out. My mind raced. When? When did I let her out!? I figured only one thing. When I load the kids into the car there is often a shuffling between getting kids and all their stuff from the house to the car. Mug is usually tramping around in and out while I get REW in her seat. I often make a quick run back inside to get something I forgot. Shoot! It must have been then! How could I miss that? Quickly, I tell Brent with tears welling up in my eyes. He has been down this road. He is part annoyed, part sad. He drives around and sees nothing. I go to bed sad. Mad at myself. I remember she has NO TAGS on. Cry myself to sleep thinking I have to tell Mug his doggy is gone. He was just that day telling REW how Frankie is "our dog" and how she "lubs to lick us but nebber bite us". Oh man. This sucks! I wake up at 5 am to feed REW and hope that when I open her door, Frankie will run out. Sadly, nothing. I feel defeated. Brent wakes up to drive around and search. I go back to bed and wake up a couple hours later to share the news with Mug that she is gone. We will look, but no guarantee and without tags, outlook is not as good. He says, "It's ok mama. All doggies die died like Emmitt." As we are eating breakfast he drops a blueberry on the ground and says, "uh-oh, no frankie here to eat my mess." Wow, he is taking this well! Deciding to go on with the day and try to call and make flyers, I go upstairs to get REW's clothes. As I open the closet door, guess who barrels out. Yep. Frankie. Mug and I had our date and we went to have tags made for Frankie. The dog with 9 lives.