Jiggs lives in a rental house occupied by a frequently
changing cast of early twenties car enthusiasts and as far as I can tell, he’s
on his third ‘owner.’ I think the house comes furnished with him. And while his
human roommates seem to treat him well, seem even to take delight in his
presence, it’s become clear they don’t all understand the concept of closed
gates.
These failures in our neighbors’ security system occur at
irregular intervals but generally every couple of weeks or so. Jiggs’ jaunts are
short lived but joyful. For whatever reason, he celebrates his independence by
making a beeline for Chez McDermott, where he frolics outside the family room
picture window until I notice him and come outside, leash in hand. He jumps and
licks and squiggles his little boxer body in the most amazing display of
unabashed love and joy, then leans against my leg while I attach the leash to
his collar. He does this whole body wag thing that threatens to make his nose
and butt meet on the far side of my calf.
Meanwhile, Odin the Large and Lazy and Zoey the Small and
Annoying are barking up a storm from behind the window, incensed at the idea that
their human is being co-opted by the boxer from the back fence. As Jiggs and I
head for home, I can hear them barking all the way. They are not impressed with
my little buddy.
Jiggs doesn’t fight capture; in fact, he runs to me when I
call. And he squiggles all the way home. Today it was the front door that was left open
and Jiggs happily ran inside to his water bowl. Then, his adventure concluded,
he gave no indication of noticing my departure.
Upon my arrival back home, of course I have to submit to a
round of suspicious sniffing from Odin and Zoey before I can resume my life.
That is, until Jiggs’ next Great Escape.
I find myself looking forward to it.
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