There is a very small female dog in my house and she is in…uh…season. Her name is Elly and she belongs to our neighbors, but, my husband and I have liberal visitation rights. So for the next few days, she will be in residence with us. Because of her fertility situation, there has been a big yellow stray dog outside my house for days. He apparently has been courting Elly. He has no collar, no name and no manners. Yesterday I went out for a while and left Elly safely in the fenced yard so that she could enjoy the pretty weather. Big mistake. When I returned home, large yellow Hobodog was IN the yard terrorizing Elly, who measures up to approximately the height of his wrists. Needless to say, Stalkerboy, possibly a blend of Labrador Retriever and Pit Bull, was anxious, frustrated and fairly determined to succeed in his endeavors. Within minutes, Elly, Yellowdog and I were all exhausted from the struggle to catch each other for different reasons, so I made the decision to simply crate Little Girl inside the house until YD gave up and left. Also, I needed to figure out exactly how he snuck into the yard, for as I said it is completely fenced in. So I walked the fence the entire perimeter of the yard searching for holes, trenches, open gates, etc. None could be found so I simply assumed the Beast had followed me or my husband into the yard unnoticed as we opened the gate and drove in. I decided to put the Big Boy out again and observe him, knowing full well that he would want to re-enter the scene of the par-tay. I put him outside the gate and watched him spring into action. The Demon ran around my fenced yard and into the yard of my neighbor where he effortlessly sailed over the fence between her yard and mine into a small enclosed area where we keep fire wood. He then shimmied under the swing gate and back into Elly territory. This took him all of about twenty seconds. Ah-ha! The old “jump the fence and shimmy under the gate routine.” I’ll show him! So I stacked a pile of firewood in front of the opening where he did the shimmy and once again, exiled him to outside the yard. This time he made the same mad dash around our fenced property line to my neighbor’s yard but he didn’t bother to jump the fence by the wood pile. Instead, he ran a little further along down to the six foot storm fence and then scaled it like a well trained, purple hearted Navy Seal entering Osama Bin Laden’s compound. And he was beating his own time! Fifteen seconds, tops. Baffled at what to do next, I called my husband for back up, but, oh right….he was out of town. He did however remind me that he had seen this animal before (if memory served him well), tied up in the yard of a house not too far away. I resolved myself to take this poor lost puppy home to his mommy. I opened the back of my handy little Subaru SUV and in the blink of an eye Diablo was inside, panting, drooling, breathing fire. So as fast as I could, I drove the Precious Thing home and pulled up in front of the house. I knocked and honked. No answer. There was a horse in a stable though, so I know that folks still live there. I opened the hatch and ushered Sweetie out of the back and told him to stay in the yard and be good. I very slowly and quietly got back into my car and gunned the accelerator, flying back to my useless fence. Feeling jubilant with success and laughing like the Wicked Witch of the West, I then caught a glimpse of a yellow flash in my rearview. No! It can’t be! I was driving fifty MPH and the Beast was right behind me. No matter how fast I went he was right there on my heels like a scene out of a bad dream. As we both re-entered my driveway, Elly ran to greet us and before I could scoop her up, he was on her. I fought him for her, won and ran inside with her, listening to him scratch up my hundred year old solid cypress kitchen door with the gusto of Jackson Pollack working on a canvas. At my rope’s end, I called Animal Control who agreed to come pick him up “some time” today. As I was pondering the long hours ahead I could hear the rhythmic percussion of the dog talons working on my door. “Uh, no I will just bring him to you…now.” So once again, we went through the boarding call routine. Before I could say “Group A,” he was in, bathing my nice leather seats with drool. I drove one block and like lightening, He had completely cleared the back seat and was in the seat beside me. In another second his paws were on my head and he was…you got it…having his way with my elbow, then my shoulder, then my bicep. This dog was on a mission and apparently Eau de Elly was still clinging to me and my clothes. The dog was out of his mind for me. I drove the back roads as slowly as possible, terrified, yet hopeful that I would have a wreck…which would actually be a relief. Finally I had no choice but to drive down a main drag. Other drivers looked at me in disgust. Me, the perverted middle aged woman who gets her jollies with dogs. Ahhhhh! I was getting scratched and bruised but…. Eureka!….. I could see the sign for Mecca straight ahead. Slowly I pulled into the drive and opened my door to get out. Romeo came with me, this time up on hind legs, front legs wrapped around my waist. I dragged him along with me into the building where I was immediately chastised for “bringing” the dog into the lobby. “What?” I shouted, “He is bringing ME! Can someone help please???” I was told to wait outside and “don’t let the dog get away.” Ha! Get away?? I wish. So Tiger Woods and I waited outside on the sidewalk, me just standing there and him…doing his thing. Finally a nice man came out of the building and gingerly removed the dog from my hip. The animal cooperated completely as the man ushered him away to a kennel. Exhausted, I re-entered the lobby to leave pertinent information. Then I left. My car is shredded, my sweater is torn, my lungs are clogged with dog hair and my attitude is poor to extremely poor. And, oh yes, did I mention that my husband is out of town??? Strangely, even after all this, I feel badly for Yellow Dog. It isn’t his fault that his owners did not take proper care of him. I hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will adopt him, train him, neuter him and bath him, but chances are it probably won’t be me.