Escape Artist

It was useless to cage the dog. I found that out early on in our relationship. I had borrowed a large cage from my sister until I could afford to buy one for Zoe. It was a wire cage with openings all around and it sat in the kitchen with a view of the backyard. Spacious by all standards.

I placed the dog in the cage and went to work. When I got home, she greeted me at the door. I went into the kitchen and checked the cage door - it was closed. I tried to open the cage door and it opened with some hesitation. It wasn't the easiest device to operate. I looked at the dog, She looked at me. I tried the cage door again and told myself I must have let the dog out before going to work and forgotten to put her in the cage.

The next day I repeated the process. I put Zoe in the cage and went to work. Again, she greeted me at the door, tail wagging when I came home. Now this time I was certain I put her in the cage. I rechecked the cage's door handle, still in the closed position. How did the dog get out of the cage? Did someone come into my house and let her out? Why would someone do this? Who would do this? There had to be another explanation.

There was. I put Zoe in her cage again then went into the living room. I called out to her, "Zoe, come here Zoe" as I watched the front of the cage from the other room. "Come here girl," I said. All 35 pounds of muscle squeezed together. I watched her head slide out between the cage's bars and the rest of her body followed. It was if I witnessed the great Houdini perform a magic act in my kitchen.

My jaw dropped as she ran over to me. There was no point in crating this dog. This dog was Mrs. Houdini.