Wilbur woes

by Katie on March 21, 2012

The events below are actually a couple weeks old, but were the sole focus of our lives for nearly a solid week. Which is both pathetic and frustrating. But true.

So, we have this hound dog, right. Already mentioned once this week.

For the most part, he’s lovable. But we recently experienced the opposite of lovable when it comes to Wilbur.

It all began (or so we think, anyway) with a small, beagle-like neighbor dog (that lives a quarter-mile south of us). This beagle-like neighbor dog is female. Wilbur is a fun-loving male. So there were a few days that week where this female hooker dog came strutting by our house, right along the fence. Where Wilbur waited patiently all day long, lest he receive an electrical charge to the collar around his neck.

But come nightfall, the last place Wilbur wanted to be was shut up in his pen, as you can imagine. Hence the whole “Houdini hound dog” thing.

After his nightly escapes from the chain and harness, and being serenaded by incessant howling at our bedroom window at 2:30am for several days, we were at our breaking point.

Time to get serious.

Off to Lowe’s we went.

Back home with new rolls of wire fencing we arrived.

Since Wilbur’s six foot tall pen was clearly not enough, we decided eight feet may be the answer. By the time the extra wire was in place, and curled to the inside like prison fence. We strongly considered adding the barbed wire to really replicate a prison fence, but didn’t have any on hand at the time. There may have been a high five or two when the work was completed, and Brandon may have shouted to Wilbur after he was penned for the evening, “Escape THAT!”

But, lo and behold…

He did.

Wilbur must have been thinking like the little “Going on a Bear Hunt” nursery-rhyme like thing…”Can’t go under it; can’t go over it; have to go through it.”

Because go through it he did.

There was a hole the size of Texas in the side of his pen the next day.

And a new one the day after that.

And then, the day after that, after Brandon had rigged up the side of the pen for the third time, he came roaring into the house shouting the following:  “That’s it, the boys are gone! They’ve got to go! I mean I want them gone now!”

…And if you can’t figure out what “boys” Brandon was referring to, let’s just say there won’t be any more “tangling” with the neighborhood dogs.

Little did I know what was in store for me with that adventure.

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